I hold your hands: cold.

I observe your eyes: closed.

I feel the obnoxious smell of the flowers in the coffin.

In middle of the murmuring of colloquies, sympathies and condolences, it seems that I listen to you denouncing my crime.

The now inexpressive face no more discloses the last grimaces produced by the arsenic.

Your lips seem to move in the glimmering candles flames as if in anxiety to denounce me...

So many common dreams, so much hope, so many projects... and you had a secret to tell me: your love was not mine...

Now, before closing the coffin, I say farewell disclosing that also I had a secret to tell you:- The son,
that I bring in my womb,
is not yours...