TO MY NATIVE CITY

Noble corner of my grandparents: nothing
like evoking, crossing alleys,
The times of the Cross and the sword,
of the smoky lamp and the straws…

As your age of feuilleton passed, walled city,
The Caravels have gone from your roads forever…
No longer comes the oil in earthenware jugs!

You were heroic in the colonial years
When your children, esteemed eagles
Were not so easily vanquished.

But today, full of ancient disorder
You still inspire the love
That one has for (comfortable) old shoes…