Memoirs of Secret Service (1699)

When I was at school, my first poems were for love, dreams,/flowers, birds. Not less and for the moon, beautifying it as/golden moon, romantic moon. But when cosmonauts went/there, they saw the moon was a dusty, sad planet, without/chirps, without flowers./So, When I faced up with the life, I know other reality: slavery/and freedom, hate and friendship, suffering and happiness./My life divided between two moons./Meanwhile, I understand that, I have embelished it more than was./It must say the truth. And I said…..