Por los médanos blancos
Alfredo Zitarrosa
Through the White Sand Dunes
Mother, through the white sand dunes,
A wicker cart is coming down.
Mother, through the white sand dunes,
Three kites have been flown.
Mother, through the white sand dunes,
That Green God is coming barefoot.
Mother, through the white sand dunes,
Without saying anything, my father left.
Mother, mother, I have grown old!
