Cielo de La Baguala

In Joaquín V. González
they call it by the Anta cowboys
swinging their ponchos
everyone dances and sings.

A countryman whistled
while dancing this zamba
maybe the tune
caught inside his soul.

The skies are already vibrating
with the bagualas
desde el sol de mi pueblo arderá
my thirst for guitar
swinging their ponchos
everyone dances and sings.

The paths of August
give me a white lagoon
if I fall asleep in González
I wake up in the salamanca.

I go after a pair of eyes
without suspecting until when
they have subdued
my heart of quebracho.