I conquered Spain,
her width and breadth;
without bloodshed, just a bit of verguenza.

I marched her stony streets,
her montes, her ultra Madrid;
brought back some ravaged America to her shores.

A Galician wedding, flamenco en Seville;
a vow to die in Barcelona- por Dios!;
Across the dry South, up to green North,
I claimed the Basque lands as my own.

At times, the razor-sharp tongue will catch in my ears;
I’ll taste the vinos, mariscos, quesos, pan.
I long for that distant home, once mine,
True love: a brave heart
contented to roam.

— EJP

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