Paloma pueblo

Accepting the challenge
of the dove's flight
I take my hoarse guitar
to sing to you, lady.

Dove of fine flight
and very fine plumage,
tangle yourself in my strings,
lady, to take care of you.

Lady dove of the town,
where did you go to fly?
Your rifle guitar
no longer wants to shoot.

So many doves have died
in a thousand ways and colors,
but the town dove
is not imprisoned by death.

Lady dove of the town,
until the return it will be.
Your song remains in my mouth,
dove of freedom.