A child said, What is the grass? fetching it to me with full
hands;
How could I answer the child? . . . . . . I do not know what
it is any more than he.
I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful
green stuff woven.
Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord...
Me has caido bien, dónde quedamos, ¿en tu mundo o en el mio?
PD.: que no este muy lejos, soy una vaga. Ah, y no te emociones, era broma, me caes mal.