Rodó
melic,
formós
pessic
de
llevadora
al
ventre
llis,
clotet
castís
que
el
sol
enyora.
Té
la
virtut
de
ser
menut
i
no
fer
nosa.
Rolled
navel,
fair
pinch
of
the
midwife
into
the
smooth
belly,
chaste
hole
that
the
sun
yearns
for.
It
has
the
virtue
of
being
small
and
not
getting
in
the
way.
Com
a
adjectiu
decoratiu,
no
hi
ha
altra
cosa.
Ja
és
el
que
té
tot
el
paper
al
moment
de
néixer.
Un
es
fa
gran
i
ell,
sempre
infant,
es
nega
a
créixer.
La
gravetat
li
ha
confiat
tot
l′equilibri
del
cos
humà,
que
sempre
està
en
desequilibri.
Porteu-lo
net,
és
el
braç
dret,
la
consciència.
Si
el
porteu
brut,
serà
el
taüt
de
la
innocència.
Rodó
melic,
el
millor
amic
meu
i
dels
altres.
Fins
cap
al
cel
sempre
fidel
vindrà
amb
nosaltres.
As
a
decorative
adjective,
there
is
no
other.
It
is
already
what
all
the
paper
has
at
the
moment
of
birth.
One
grows
up
and
it,
always
a
child,
refuses
to
grow
up.
Gravity
has
entrusted
it
with
all
the
balance
of
the
human
body,
which
is
always
out
of
balance.
Keep
it
clean,
it
is
the
right
arm,
the
conscience.
If
you
carry
it
dirty,
it
will
be
the
coffin
of
innocence.
Round
navel,
my
best
friend
and
that
of
others.
Up
to
the
sky,
always
faithful,
it
will
come
with
us.