La luna vino a la fragua
con su polizón de nardos.
El niño la mira mira.
El niño la está mirando.
En el aire conmovido
mueve la luna sus brazos
y enseña, lúbrica y pura,
sus senos de duro estaño.
-Huye, luna, luna, luna.
Si vinieran los gitanos,
harían con tu corazón
collares y anillos blancos.
-Niño, déjame que baile.
Cuando vengan los gitanos,
te encontrarán sobre el yunque
con los ojillos cerrados.
-Huye, luna, luna, luna,
que ya siento los caballos.
Poema de Federico García Lorca.
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