A rima mais bonita [English translation]

I'm tired of the poems I have written,

Yet I didn't have the courage to destroy them;

They're verses, my love, they talk about you...

Even if sometimes, they pretend they can't speak!

The fado, when the night arrived,

Became really happy when it saw me;

It asked me for new poems and I didn't have any:

I destroyed them even before I had written them!

Now, when fado pays me a visit,

It already brings poems made out of sadness:

Tired, it choses the most beautiful rhyme

And leaves it, all but forgotten, on the table...

Thus, sorrow comes and I go back

To those quatrains I hadn't finished:

They're verses, my love, when I start them

But, as soon as I finish them, they're already fado!