Garzas VIajeras
José Larralde
Traveling Herons
Traveling herons,
light brides of the blue,
northbound,
splashing through the sky,
and here my river,
mirror shows their flight,
as if it were a handkerchief,
that January is washing.
There's a little boat,
swaying ceaselessly,
several girls,
sailing for pleasure.
And there in the distance,
fishing canoe,
are signs of sorrows,
what a different sunset.
You see, fellow countryman,
I nest among the reeds,
come if you like,
share needs.
Life of the poor,
holds on to hope,
bending the back,
so that another may bend the goods.
Flag in the sun,
the golden canvas of the wheat field,
sways gently,
in waves of gold and upon return.
Gray pigeons,
the turtledoves in the river,
before seeking their nests,
go to its course to drink.
There's a party up there,
up on the palm grove hill,
it's the boss's son's birthday.
And in a blessed squeeze,
among the bulrushes,
down here cries and cries,
the woodcutter's son.
You see, fellow countryman,
I nest among the reeds,
come if you like,
share needs.
Life of the poor,
holds on to hope,
bending the back,
so that another may bend the goods.
