Pongale Por Las Hileras
Cantares de La Cañadita
Put Them in Rows
The grape clusters are golden
When the vines are pruned
For the provinces of the south
This offering made cueca
That when watered with my song
I open all the floodgates
For the harvest time
How beautiful the homeland becomes
There's a sparkle in the eyes
Of the countryman
Going back and forth in the cart
From the vineyard to the winery
Always a cluster to deliver
Of the white or the black
Put them in rows
Without leaving any cluster
The winery must be filled
The wine is running out!
The young man has left the basket
She leaves the scissors
And they rehearse as if playing
A cueca in the rows
And at night under the open sky
There are a thousand local songs
And among verses a little wine
Called dream-chaser
