Mondadeiras
Luis Trigacheiro
Harvesters
I learned to sing
Plowing in wet soil
There, in the loneliness of the field
Thinking of you, my beloved
How many poppies can be seen
Beyond, in those wheat fields
As many as kisses were given
Harvesters and shepherds!
The harvesters, singing
Their sorrows, their loves
They don't sing: They're praying
In an altar full of flowers!
In an altar full of flowers
Each one is a desire
The little angels are shepherds
And the chapel, the countryside!
Field, green field
Harvested with such pleasure
You're green in the spring
And blonde in the month of August!
The harvesters, singing
Their sorrows, their loves
They don't sing: They're praying
In an altar full of flowers!
In an altar full of flowers
Each one is a desire
The little angels are shepherds
And the chapel, the countryside!
In an altar full of flowers
Each one is a desire
The little angels are shepherds
And the chapel, oh, the countryside!
