Mariposa de otoño by Pablo Neruda

La mariposa volotea y arde —con el sol— a veces. Mancha volante y llamarada, ahora se queda parada sobre una hoja que la mece. Me decían: —No tienes nada. No estás enfermo. Te parece. Yo tampoco decía nada. Y pasó el tiempo de las mieses. Hoy una mano de congoja llena de otoño el horizonte. Y hasta de mi alma caen hojas. Me decían: —No tienes nada. No estás enfermo. Te parece. Era la hora de las espigas. El sol, ahora, convalece. Todo se va en la vida, amigos. Se va o perece. Se va la mano que te induce. Se va o perece. Se va la rosa que desates. También la boca que te bese. El agua, la sombra y el vaso. Se va o perece. Pasó la hora de las espigas. El sol, ahora, convalece. Su lengua tibia me rodea. También me dice: —Te parece. La mariposa volotea, revolotea, y desaparece.

Autumn butterfly (literal translation of Pablo Neruda’s poem)

The butterfly flutters and burns—with the sun—sometimes. A flying spot and a flame, now it remains standing on a leaf that rocks it. They told me: —You have nothing. You are not sick. Do you think so? I didn’t say anything either. And the time of the harvest passed. Today a hand of anguish fills the horizon with autumn. And even from my soul leaves fall. They told me: —You have nothing. You are not sick. Do you think so. It was the time of the ears of corn. The sun, now, is convalescing. Everything goes in life, friends. It goes or perishes. The hand that leads you goes. It goes or perishes. The rose that you untie goes. Also the mouth that kisses you. The water, the shadow and the glass. It goes or perishes. The time of the ears of corn has passed. The sun is now recovering. Its warm tongue surrounds me. It also says to me: —Does it seem to you? The butterfly flutters, flutters, and disappears.