TAL VEZ SERÁ SU VOZ.

The piano sounds; the light is more than needed, night falls suddenly, and without meaning to, the shadows huddle in the corners, evoking Griseta, Malena, María Ester.

The shadows the tango brought tonight compel me to remember her as well. Let us dance, for it hurts me to go on dreaming of the shimmer of her satin dress.

Who grieves in the violin? What tender voice, weary of suffering, has begun to sob like this? Perhaps it is the murmur of the woman who once suddenly fell asleep. Perhaps it is her voice, perhaps! It cannot be her voice, her voice has already died away; it can only be my own heart!

She was sad, pale and distant, her hair black, her eyes gray-green. And in the morning sunlight her lips too were a sorrowful crimson flower.

One day she did not come; I was left waiting. And later they told me of her end. That is why, with the shadows of the tangos, I remember her in vain, more and more!