Rincón de Toros

In the Bajé estates
I spent spurs, rides
I opened trails of dews
in contrabands and taming
I kept colts' neighs
in rows of reins

There's plenty of horse to sing to Rio Grande
I loosen the load of my verse, dark-haired
I'm a long lean creole with 'water eyes'
and a rural worker from 'Bull Corner' estate

Old Grujo, foreman for years
half moon-faced from the punches he took
and despite everything, he keeps turning over with piales
raw and bad ones that destiny handed him

In the pen, the little black one jumps bareback
a dappled mare, ticklish and treacherous
the mate is 'lowered' when leaving the gate
right there she tangles a mark on the whip

And the dogs get excited in whirlwinds
they make a party of barks waiting
for everyone to come out to make a side move
on a rogue that crawls bucking

Zaragoza, a good Uruguayan creole
smuggled his own life there
walking with spurs in estate reserves
breaking in colts in the swollen Piray

And Don Felipe, a veteran of the border
sawing legs towards the serrillada direction
sickly pocho, horses-in-mute ahead
looking for a troop that was bought long ago

'Bull Corner', hope on horseback
in resistance with a tough back gate
a straight-lined wire fence
tradition fencing for the future