Piedad

Pity, for this woman
Who is dying a little more each time
Who looks ahead, yes, she looks
Who is thirsty and gives us all a drink
Who never asks for anything
Dreaming is cheaper
Expert in the miracle
Of saving
Above all a woman
From a generous land
With the best harvest
Of children for peace.

Pity, for this woman
Mortal, just like all the others
Statue of baked clay
Who goes from myth to wanting to fly.

Who has an easy laugh
And warm, big hands
For the child with hunger
And the man in pain
Who has a masculine body
And a volcano in the blood
For wild love
And everyday love.

Pity, for this woman
Changing moon out of necessity
Weathervane, empty-headed
Who goes back before arriving
Pity, for this woman
Pity, for this woman
Pity Lord, for this woman.