Sina de Andejo

Burning copper in races
Dawning in a carpeted room
They are chips of a trade
For those who grew up on the road
Scratching spurs in rodeos
Taming beaten herds
Whoever wants to know who I am
Find me in a cattle drive

If I smell like earth
And my hand is calloused
A wide-brimmed hat
Wet from the early morning
If I have a nomad's fate
Without destination and without stop
I don't carry restraints with me
The hillside is my dwelling

Skilled wire-fencer
Strong arm for salting meat
Low wrist in shearing
Partner in horse riding
Never let a heifer escape
After the herd is scattered
Whoever wants to know who I am
Find me in a cattle drive