The poems of a good man - José Martí
cultivate a white rose In July as in January For the
friend What I sincerely
holds out his hand away. And for the cruel
who pulled
The heart that gives me life Do not cultivate
plug or caterpillar,
cultivate the white rose.
I think, when I become cheerful
As a simple schoolboy,
the canary yellow -
Who the eye so black!
I want when I die,
Homeless, but without a master,
have on my tombstone
a branch of flowers - and a flag!
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