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 Shitao rated 25 months ago - Arbolé, arbolé,
seco y verdí.
La niña del bello rostro
está cogiendo aceituna.
El viento, galán de torres,
la prende por la cintura.
Pasaron cuatro jinetes
sobre jacas andaluzas,
con trajes de azul y verde,
con largas capas oscuras.
"Vente a Córdoba, muchacha."
La niña... more
- Tags: bizarre, humor, fortune-cookie, humour, bad-cookie, funny
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107 Reviews
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- djTeka rated 20 months agobizarre
- "If you do something right the first time, no one will appreciate how hard it was (to do)"
- dogwater rated 21 months agobizarre
- Ah yes, Grasshopper, finally a fortune that I can relate to!
- Ixuxia reviewed 21 months agobizarre
- Depart not from the path fate has given you, or you will die a hideous death.
- Atomschlag reviewed 24 months ago
- "You have a poor sense of humor and don't know a good time"
The first fortune cookie that actually tells the truth.
- maidenmarym rated 24 months agobizarre
- stumbled on this site eons ago, before I KNEW of "Stumble" it was funny then and funny now!
- Shitao rated 25 months agohumor, poetry, bizarre
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Arbolé, arbolé,
seco y verdí.
La niña del bello rostro
está cogiendo aceituna.
El viento, galán de torres,
la prende por la cintura.
Pasaron cuatro jinetes
sobre jacas andaluzas,
con trajes de azul y verde,
con largas capas oscuras.
"Vente a Córdoba, muchacha."
La niña no los escucha.
Pasaron tres torerillos
delgaditos de cintura,
con trajes color naranja
y espadas de plata antigua.
"Vente a Córdoba, muchacha."
La niña no los escucha.
Cuando la tarde se puso
morada, con lux difusa,
pasó un joven que llevaba
rosas y mirtos de luna.
"Vente a Granada, muchacha."
Y la niña no lo escucha.
La niña del bello rostro
sigue cogiendo aceituna,
con el brazo gris del viento
ceñido por la cintura.
Arbolé, arbolé.
Seco y verdé.
Tree, tree
dry and green.
The girl with the pretty face
is out picking olives.
The wind, playboy of towers,
grabs her around the waist.
Four riders passed by
on Andalusian ponies,
with blue and green jackets
and big, dark capes.
"Come to Cordoba, muchacha."
the girl won't listen to them.
Three young bullfighters passed,
slender in the waist,
with jackets the color of oranges
and swords of ancient silver.
"Come to Sevilla, muchacha."
The girl won't listen to them.
When the afternoon had turned
dark brown, with scattered light,
a young man passed by, wearing
roses and myrtle of the moon.
"Come to Granada, muchacha."
And the girl won't listen to him.
The girl with the pretty face
keeps on picking olives
with the grey arm of the wind
wrapped around her waist.
Tree, tree
dry and green.
--Federico García Lorca
- NoelCower rated 37 months agohumor, fortune-cookie, bizarre
- Still funny, great for a laugh on a boring day.
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