| Ode to the Liver
Modest, organized
friend, underground
worker, let me give you
the wings of my song, the thrust
of the air
the soaring of my ode;
it is born
of your invisible machinery,
it flies from your tireless
confined mill,
delicate powerful entrail,
ever alive and dark.
While the heart resounds and attracts
the music of the mandolin,
there, inside,
you filter and apportion,
you separate and divide,
you multiply and lubricate,
you raise and gather
the threads and the grams of life.
From you, I hope for justice;
I love life: Do not betray me!
Work on!
Do not arrest my song.
Pablo Neruda
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