The Drowned Woman of the Sky by Pablo Neruda

Woven butterfly, garment hung from the trees, drowned in sky, derived amid squalls and rains, alone, alone, compact, with clothes and tresses torn to shreds and centers corroded by the air.

Motionless, if you withstand the raucous needle of winter, the river of angry water that harasses you. Celestial shadow, dove branch broken by night among the dead flowers:

I stop and suffer when like a slow and cold-filled sound you spread your red glow beaten by the water.