El Bocal

There is no prettier sight
Than that of a wild Creole
With its tangled mane
Waiting for reins and bridle

In the pen, firmly planted
In front of the ranch, the thrush
So many colts being broken
Where they would be tied to the bridle

And so they would come out bucking
Until the colt's training was complete
And then the bridle, hanging
In the barn, waiting for another

As the days passed
And the work was done thoroughly
The horse tamer, taking it easy, would go out
To the little town, from his gaucho corner

To the bridle, which makes the colt
Hey, horse of the countryman
In these verses, a simple gift
Given from the soul of a horse tamer