More than just an exercise in form, your Constanza forces several readings searching hidden crusts of delight and sight-and-sound-and-smell sensory just-right load. That you amaze merely confirms I am sure what so many of us already have found in your words and works…and in some ways it is a shame to call it by toil’s second name for too few call such craft joy. Mil gracias, dona Yasmin.
Fragrant blossoms perfume the trees Air roseate with redolence Birds warbling endless resonance. Dew luminesces flowers and leaves Where butterflies on morning jaunt Fluttering prismatic feathers flaunt. Morning serenade by bees Nuzzling blooms for their sweet nectar The quèen bee's honey collector. Leaves rustled by a gentle breeze Cloudless sky vaulting green meadows Lambs grazing in peaceful shadows. Dropping slowly into the eaves Dry leaves and twigs, the sparrows find A nest, a home they weave and bind. Fragrant blossoms perfume the trees Dew luminesces flowers and leaves Morning serenade by bees Leaves rustled by a gentle breeze Dropping slowly into the eaves. # The Constanza form of poetry