Aquella pequeña rosa

𝐻𝑎𝑦 𝑢𝑛𝑎 𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑎 𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑎 𝑚𝑖 𝑎𝑙𝑟𝑒𝑑𝑒𝑑𝑜𝑟, 𝑠𝑢𝑠 𝑝𝑒̀𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑜𝑠 𝑠𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑐𝑒𝑛 𝑒𝑛 𝑚𝑖𝑠 𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑧𝑜𝑠, 𝑠𝑢𝑠 𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑎𝑠 𝑐𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑔𝑎𝑛 𝑑𝑒 𝑚𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑠 𝑏𝑎𝑛̃𝑎𝑑𝑎𝑠 𝑒𝑛 𝑙𝑎 𝑒𝑥𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛̃𝑒𝑧𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑔𝑢𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑎 𝑢𝑛 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑢𝑒𝑟𝑑𝑜.

𝐸𝑛 𝑒𝑙 𝑓𝑖𝑙𝑜 𝑑𝑒 𝑙𝑎 𝑛𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑎 𝑝𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑛̃𝑎 𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑎 𝑚𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑒 𝑎𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑧𝑎𝑟, 𝑢𝑛𝑎 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑧 𝑒𝑛𝑣𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑣𝑒 𝑚𝑖𝑠 𝑠𝑢𝑒𝑛̃𝑜𝑠, 𝑎𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑎 𝑝𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑛̃𝑎 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑎𝑐𝑖𝑜̀𝑛 𝑠𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒 𝑑𝑒 𝑚𝑖 𝑐𝑢𝑒𝑟𝑝𝑜 𝑦 𝑑𝑎𝑛𝑧𝑎 𝑒𝑛 𝑙𝑜 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑒 𝑚𝑖 𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑎.

𝑃𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑛̃𝑎𝑠 𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑠 𝑐𝑢𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑢 𝑐𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑜̀, 𝑝𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑛̃𝑎𝑠 𝑑𝑢𝑑𝑎𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑢 𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑜̀, 𝑐𝑜𝑛 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑓𝑢𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑜̀𝑛 𝑚𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑒 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑔𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑟, 𝑎𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑑𝑜 𝑛𝑖𝑛̃𝑜 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑜𝑐𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑜 𝑛𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑣𝑒𝑟, 𝑙𝑎 𝑐𝑟𝑢𝑑𝑒𝑧𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝑎𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑚𝑎𝑟 𝑒𝑠 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒 𝑑𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑠 𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑠 𝑏𝑎𝑛̃𝑎𝑟𝑠𝑒, 𝑑𝑒 𝑎𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑎𝑠 𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑒 𝑢𝑛𝑎 𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑚𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝑖𝑙𝑢𝑠𝑖𝑜̀𝑛 𝑦 𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑟, 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑎𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑧𝑎𝑛 𝑎𝑞𝑢𝑒̀𝑙 𝑜𝑙𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑎𝑑𝑜 𝑦 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑔𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑑𝑜 𝑖𝑛𝑣𝑖𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑜.

𝑆𝑢𝑠 𝑝𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑛̃𝑎𝑠 𝑟𝑎𝑚𝑎𝑠 𝑙𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑠 𝑠𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑛 𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒𝑑𝑎𝑟 𝑒𝑛 𝑒𝑙 𝑓𝑖𝑙𝑜 𝑑𝑒 𝑙𝑎 𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑠, 𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑏𝑟𝑎 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑑𝑎 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑜́ 𝑑𝑒 𝑙𝑢𝑧 𝑠𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑛 𝑜𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠 𝑒𝑛 𝑓𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒́𝑠.

𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑓𝑢𝑠𝑎 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑎𝑐𝑖𝑜́𝑛 𝑑𝑒𝑙 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑟, 𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑎 𝑚𝑒 𝑚𝑖𝑟𝑎́ 𝑑𝑒 𝑚𝑖 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑚𝑎 𝑠𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑟, 𝑐𝑜𝑏𝑖𝑗𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑛𝑜 𝑠𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑒 𝑒𝑥𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑟.

𝑇𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑜 𝑢𝑛𝑎 𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑝𝑜𝑟 𝑙𝑎𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑛̃𝑎𝑛𝑎𝑠 𝑚𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑒 𝑣𝑖𝑠𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟 𝑒𝑙 𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑑𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑐𝑒́ 𝑠𝑢 𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑎 𝑎 𝑙𝑎𝑠 𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑎𝑠 𝑑𝑒𝑙 𝑠𝑜𝑙. 𝑆𝑒 𝑣𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑣𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑎, 𝑠𝑢𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑟𝑜 𝑑𝑒 𝑎𝑧𝑢𝑐𝑎𝑟 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑗𝑎 𝑚𝑖 𝑟𝑎𝑧𝑜́𝑛.

𝑌 𝑢𝑛 𝑝𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑛̃𝑜 𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑜𝑟, 𝑠𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑔𝑙𝑜𝑧𝑎𝑟 𝑝𝑜𝑟 𝑙𝑎𝑠 𝑙𝑖̀𝑛𝑒𝑎𝑠 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑛 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑙𝑎 𝑝𝑎𝑙𝑚𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝑚𝑖 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑜, 𝑒𝑠 𝑢𝑛 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑙𝑖𝑧, 𝑎𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑝𝑎𝑚𝑒, 𝑠𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒..𝑒𝑠𝑒 𝑒𝑥𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛̃𝑜 𝑔𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑏𝑎𝑡𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑠 𝑠𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑟.

𝑆𝑢𝑠 𝑝𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑛̃𝑎𝑠 𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑢́𝑛 𝑠𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑛 𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑎𝑗𝑎𝑟, ℎ𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑎 𝑚𝑖𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑢𝑒𝑟𝑑𝑜𝑠 𝑠𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑟...