El Bocal

There is no prettier sight
Than that of a wild Creole
With its tangled mane
Waiting for rein and bridle

In the pen, firmly planted
Facing the ranch, the thrush
How many colts were broken
There, they tied the bridle

And so they would come out bucking
Until the colt's training
And then the bridle, hanging
In the barn, waiting for another

When the days were ending
And the work was done smoothly
The horse tamer, taking it easy, would go out
To the little town, from his gaucho corner

To the bridle, which makes the colt
Hey, horse of the countryman
In these verses, a simple gift
Given from the soul, a horse tamer