Gala Invitations Wording

My city is not called Lisbon, does not smell nor the south it passes over the river, but as she has milky springs and marbles ... In my city of gold are the sunsets over the Douro river and the sea and only she has the late afternoon light adorn the granite ... In my city, as in Lisbon for gulls and sea air but no ferries on the river for transporting nectar Rabelo and souls ... Born in my town north craggy, unyielding and the sun, when it penetrates her gently, tenderly, after winning the fog ... In my town there are also sessions, cats, doves, roasted chestnuts and bait and fate through the alleys, hung with springs like clothes to dry on the wires ... My city has also languescentes afternoons, gazebos plazas old playing cards at garden tables and reviving of widows and spinsters riding the tram ... It is true that the light in my city, not like the Lisbon but the light of my town is a flutter of love astro-rei to the na Beija-border, each Manhã! ...

Maria Mamede

(My city is not called Lisbon, and smells of the south, or by passing it the Tajo, but as Lisbon, has sources of milk and marble. In my city the sunsets are golden on the Douro River and the sea, and only she has a light sunset that adorns the granite. In my city, as in Lisbon, there are gulls and sea air, but no ferries in Rabelo is the only river that carry nectar and souls. In my city born North Cliff and disobedient, and the sun, when it comes to it, the delicate and lovingly enters after beating fog ... In my town there are cries, cats, pigeons, roasted chestnuts, liver and fado in the streets, adorned with fountains, with clothes drying on the awnings ... My city is also languishing afternoons, kiosks in the streets, old men playing cards at tables garden. And in her reborn widows and spinsters when riding in the tram. It is true that in my city of light is not such as Lisbon, but the light of my town is a flutter of love of the sun that kisses on the forehead every morning.)