The clouds roll over Toledo
Riding the evening sky as if it were a black stallion
The moon illuminates those clouds
And the moon hides his beaming round face behind them
The wind slides through the treetops
In its wake, a few branches disturbed from their resting place
The warmth of this gentle breeze glides over the river of Toledo
It aerials under the gothic arches
It rushes past the old lover’s trail
It travels to tickle the faces of youthful children, playing by the riverbank
I can hear their giggles from here
And as I turn to leave, I swear I can feel the wind tickle my back
As the clouds roll over Toledo