La Infancia

Week after week
My early age passes.
Better not to talk about school,
I hated it with all my might,
From the book to the bell,
From the pencil to the blackboard,
From the desk to the teacher.
And I start to love the guitar
And where I feel a party
There I learn a song.

When I get lost in the vineyard
Setting up my pranks
I am the happy violet
The wind messes up my hair.

As I was born a tough cookie
Not even the devil could catch me
If with the inconsistent school
I was constant to go to the hill.
I spend it like in exile
Happy with the little birds
Dreaming of little angels.
So the end of the year catches me
Sitting on some benches.
I wish I could be a little tree!

So little by little I learn
What a 'mansera' and a plow are
'Arrope', 'zanco' and 'gloriado'
'Bolillo' that is grinding
Sowing, hoeing, weeding and threshing,
Reaping, cutting and harvesting;
Now I know what the darnel is
And how many kinds of spiders
Eat the chamomile.

I learn to dance the cueca
I play the vihuela, I improvise,
I skin a frog with a knife
I already turn the spinning wheel.
Like a broody hen
I take out my lovely flock
And in the 'callana' I heat up
I leave the wheat golden
And the corn yellow,
No one beats me in a fight.

...and I start to love the guitar
And where I feel a party
There I learn a song.