A passion

You nourish, it is true, certain gifts of painting
Your finished canvases enrich our walls,
Are the living witnesses, the tender furniture
Of a talent of the brush and pure colours.

The bright freshness of your still lives
Witness the ease and sensitivity,
Of a taste, of emotions in strong pastel tints
That you knew how to marry in the opportunity.

And I often spend time in front of your paintings,
To dring in the colours, to charm my loving eye,
Just as the poet observing the stars
Savours their secrets that his sight has understood.

The tribute to your merit is not sycophancy
I have always known how to appreciate this vacation;
Regretting, however, that a wealthy man
Did not know longer this fire of passion.