Barefoot over the earth!

Shavings curl on the beach
Which berry-smells fill.
A cottage grows up
On Sintras hill


In half-an-hour`s walk
From the village
My life like a legend
Begins all over.


Not for loafers to envy-
To no haven or cove.
Like a rank-and-file trooper
I go to the Sintra hill
With the convent of Penia

I dream:
At a distance
From everyday din
To acquire birds ` keen vision
Unknown to us men.


But if anyone comes
With intentions black,
It will show to such folks
Not its front, but its back.

Please my friends have a fantastic night !