Potrerito de la infancia

Distant little pasture of my childhood
with marbles, hopscotch, and kites
riding on an old broom, always returns
braided leather of the colt, my whip.

Paradise of that little farm boy
home of dust storms and fields
floating my little boat in the reservoir
and the windmill lighthouse spins around.

Distant little pasture of my childhood
school, park, innocent games
I return to the dance, I return to the song
I’m the kid who was born
out there in the fields.

The morning star searched for me
since I was a kid in the corrals
I had a game.

Let the storm come
I’ve got my leathers
and a little one that in the corrals
isn’t an early riser.

I went to bring my sweat to the furrow
and to the golden ear every January
the years of that little boy that went away
with neighs and morning bleats.