El Cosechero
Luiz Carlos Borges
The Harvester
The old river that goes
Crossing the dawn
Like a great marsh
Carries the raft in its crazy sway
Heading to the harvest, harvester I will be
And among white flakes, I will sing my hope
With calloused hands, I will leave in the cotton
My heart
The land of the quebracho and wild chaco
Will ignite my blood with a hoarse sapukay
And my hat will be in the furrow under the sun
Lighthouse of light
Cotton, that goes, that goes, that goes
White silver wet with moon and sweat
A little drunk hut of dreams and love I want
From Corrientes I come
Barranqueras can already be seen
And on the coast an accordion
Moaning goes its slow chamamé
Heading to the harvest, harvester I will be
And among white flakes, I will sing my hope
With calloused hands, I will leave in the cotton
My heart
The land of the quebracho and wild chaco
Will ignite my blood with a hoarse sapukay
And my hat will be in the furrow under the sun
Lighthouse of light
Cotton, that goes, that goes, that goes
White silver wet with moon and sweat
A little drunk hut of dreams and love I want
I want
