Mi tierra en invierno

(Milonga)

Poor my beloved land
so harshly treated in winter
when the sun falls ill
and seems to forget about it.
The countryman sows life
planting early wheat
and even though the horse is healthy
he takes care of its throat
because even though the horse doesn't sing
he must always have it close by.

Poor my beloved land
it seems that in these years
winter does more harm
than in past times;
it might be an excess of hardships
it might be border winds
they say the Cordillera
lets bad winds through
that an attempted tsunami
has lowered its summit.

Good my beloved land
makes room for anyone
from cattle to the cross
from clean wheat to the nettle
and I don't need to say
that, when there's a flood
the scorpion, the mouse
- bugs that don't deserve it -
find that she offers them
even the last ridge.

My beloved land knows
that it doesn't need to keep accounts:
when the storm comes
she already senses it.
She will dry the wounds in the sun
that may have hurt her
because when September comes
it will be time to castrate
to brand and to wean
the wheat is threshed in December.

Poor my beloved land
so harshly treated in August
but still the newly calved cow
will give milk
we must watch the ant
that makes its nest in the open field
because winter has turned the dry land
into juicy soil
and because all things
will change with the summer.

(Punctuation, versification, and spelling are by Alfredo Zitarrosa)