"If the Moon On the Skies"

If the moon on the skies does not roam,

But cools, like a seal above,

My dead husband enters the home

To read the letters of love.

He remembers the box, made of oak,

With the lock, very secret and odd,

And spreads through a floor the stroke

Of his feet in the iron bond.

He watches the times of the meetings

And the signatures' blurry set.

Hasn't had he sufficiently grievings

And pains in this word until that?