Evening fell
sad and dusty.

     The water was singing
its rustic verse
in the pockets
of the weary water wheel.

     The mule was dreaming
-- poor old mule! --
to the rhythm of shadows
drowsing in the water.

     Evening fell
sad and dusty.

     I don't know which poet,
noble and divine,
joined the sorrow
of the eternal wheel

     to the sweet music
of the sleepy water
and covered your eyes
-- poor old mule!

     It must have been a poet,
noble and divine,
a heart matured
by nighttime and knowledge.