Love the Marti poetry from the song  Guantanamera.

I am an honest man
From where the palm tree grows
And before dying I want
To share the verses of my soul.

My verse is a clear(light) green
And it is flaming crimson
My verse is that of a wounded deer(servant, slave)
Who seeks refuge in the woods.

I cultivate a white rose
In July as in January
For the sincere friend
Who gives me his honest hand.

And for the cruel one who would tear out
the heart with which I live
I cultivate not nettles nor thistles
I cultivate the white rose

With the poor people of the earth
I want to cast my luck
The brook of the mountains
Pleases me more than the sea