For the love of Francisca

It is said that Francisca,
she was a quiet woman,
who walked the streets,
always looking at emptiness,
of fragile size,
and big brown eyes.
her hair so black,
like lost dreams,
that the breeze was in charge,
to caress with tenderness.
His steps were light,
her cheeks just pink,
his red lips, his white skin,
they were the masterpiece,
of brush strokes of an angel.
When he arrived at his house,
slowly he undressed,
it filled the old bathtub,
and entered it to wait,
at midnight,
he will bring his true love,
and so, every night,
until your last goodbye,
by that gallant ghost,
that never failed him.