Here you will find the Poem Ballad of the Moon, Moon of poet Federico García Lorca
The moon came to the forge wearing a bustle of nards. The boy is looking at her. The boy is looking hard. In the troubled air, the wind moves her arms, showing lewd and pure, her hard, tin breasts. 'Run, moon, moon, moon. If the gypsies came, they would make of your heart necklaces and white rings.' 'Child, let me dance. When the gypsies come, they will find you on the anvil with your little eyes shut tight.' 'Run, moon moon moon. I can hear their horses. Child, let me be, don't walk on my starchy white.' The rider was drawing closer playing the drum of the plain. In the forge the child has his eyes shut tight. Bronze and dream, the gypsies cross the olive grove. Their heads held high, their eyes half open. Ay how the nightjar sings! How it sings in the tree! The moon goes through the sky with a child in her hand. In the forge the gypsies wept and cried aloud. The air is watching, watching. The air watched all night long.
