Miguel sadly ironic evokes their dreams and desires focused on this at all, and feels the need to forget the body. His eyes, looking inward, see the tiny vegetation, insects painted all that spring has put on an unmarked grave. This is what a life that is considered superior to the others left as the only trace of their existence. Perhaps in the corolla of the flowers there is a drop of the soul of Alicia, and butterflies drink it to continue their drunken uproar over the graves.

Spring! The prince raised his thoughts on individual pain. Remember what I’ve seen in a piece of world ravaged by the brutality of men, cities in ruins, people raise their walls only one meter above the ground, as the cities discovered after a cataclysm burned farms, endless fields sterilized drilled, turned upside down by a cannonade of five years, many graves … thousands of graves … million graves. The women, dressed in black, the roads are wavering through the debris and open funnels by monstrous projectiles. They lost their sons, their husbands were shot, now sweep the ground in search of his house that was …

But the winter of the war is over, and spring comes peace. And the same hand putting green flowers and butterflies on fragrant garlands hanging unmarked grave of the fire-blackened walls, upholstered with velvet plant the slopes open by explosions, makes chirping birds and insects stir over the graves, guide the meandering vine of the black wood of the crosses, as if to make them thyrsus …