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letra de prothalamium - judy collins

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come, all of you who are not satisfied
as rulers in a lone wallpapered room
full of mute birds and flowers that falsely bloom,
and closets choked with dreams that long ago died!

come, let us sweep the old streets–like a bride;
sweep out the dead leaves with a relentless broom;
prepare for spring, as if he were our groom
for whose light footstep eagerly we bide.

we’ll sweep out the shadows, where the rats long fed;
sweep out our shame–and in its place we’ll make
a bower for love, a splendid marriage-bed
fragrant with flowers aquiver for the spring.
and when he comes, our murdered dreams shall wake;
and when he comes, all the mute birds shall sing,
and when he comes, all the mute birds shall sing.

- judy collins

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