IF MY PEOPLE
MARCHÉ
With twenty years of age recently left my land. Gone was my family, friends and my roots, which I have never forgotten.
After twelve years, not a day passes that I do not remember, the countryside, the streets and the people of this blessed land.
In February, with four rags a costume, with a piece of cane, a whistle and sing those coplillas carnival.
When incense is leaving their scent on Easter, I am on Friday, the output of Nuestro Padre Jesus Nazareno, in the silence of the Plaza de Andalucia, the song of an arrow in the corner of Lora Street.
Forty degrees in the shade, what if we enjoy a good cold drink to the sound of Seville Adelfa 5 and the Choir, at the booth at the fair with friends.
to dismiss in September and summer is the feast in honor of our pattern where the bulls and enjoy various performances.
In the cold winter comes the warmth of home with Christmas, the good wishes and the family environment, the wishes of Peace and Love
But for me all year that I look far desire and anxiety is when flowers bloom, the town is decked out, dress in their finery, the women pull out their flamenco dresses, everyone sings Seville, when all we see Our Lady of Fatima to accompany the pilgrimage, this is the date I wait all year to return to my village and see my family, my friends and get my roots.
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