Canción Del Amanecer

The trembling
and sad voice of a bell tower
must tell us.
A ray of light and the cry of a heron
that has woken up hungry and searches
among wheat and oats
for anything to fill its crop.
Or maybe a rooster
that sings in the yard.
The night has died, and it's already dawning,
the night has died, and it's already dawning.

While I sing, dawn has broken,
the village still sleeps.
The leaves have woken up wet
in the neighboring alfalfa field.
They shake off the dew
as dawn arrives
and the sun warms them,
until they are cut down with a stroke of the sickle.
They raise their
wet and fresh heads.
There will be time to fall to the ground,
there will be time to fall to the ground.

In the village, a child cries
and outside, the lambs run.

With a bag and a canteen on his back,
and a staff in his hand,
the shepherd and his watchdog leave,
heading towards other pastures.
Crossing rivers and huts,
they want to return to the mountains.
They set out with the dawn,
it's necessary to leave early:
the path they must take is very long,
the path they must take is very long.

Towards the village comes the farmer,
empty bag and full cart
of red tomatoes and vegetables
picked from his garden.
The mule sweats, the cart creaks
and the man closes his eyes and dreams,
while the sun rises
from a bed of oaks, dazzling
the little old ladies
who, all withered,
walk towards the church,
walk towards the church.

And now I sing, dawn has broken.
The village is still asleep.

And now I sing, dawn has broken.
The village is still asleep.