Manoblanca

Where are you going, little cart from the east
punishing your team of sorrels,
and showing on the blue cart
the two hand-painted initials.

Shining the bronze star
nailed on the leather sole,
where are you going, little cart from the Eleventh,
crossing lightly the streets of the South.

Porteñito!... White glove!...
Let's go, strength, the slope is coming!
White glove!... Porteñito!
Strength! Let's go, just a little more!

Good! Good!... We're off!...
Now keep going steady again,
for tonight your eyes await me
at Centenera and Tabaré Avenue.

Where are you going, little cart from Buenos Aires
with your flamboyant and coquettish cart,
with closed eyes from sleep
and a sprig of rue behind your ear.

The pride of being well loved
is guessed in your bronze star,
little cart from the Eleventh neighborhood
returning trotting to the corral.

Good! Good!... We're off!...
Now keep going steady again
while I dream of those eyes
from Centenera and Tabaré Avenue.