Arroyito

Clear stream in your murmur
You lullaby the cane field
Thread of water that tickles
My path and my hut

Your pebbles a little necklace
With which I adorn my heart
Silver cradle of the morning
That in the mountain becomes a song

I am jealous, deadly jealous
Because you bathe his beautiful body full of light
And I am jealous of your foams and your crystals
Little silver stream, you are my rival