De Gurí

From a boy I came to give,
with my dad the sheds,
and entangled with the workers
I started to stay,
to sell cakes, to herd.

Pastries,
boiled mate.
And they fattening the belt
with cans for the foreman.

As a young man I was treated,
to act as a benteveo,
gathering the small things
I spent hunched over,
then sent to work,
as a legaranto grabber,
my waist and side have never hurt so much.

They are coming out of the shed
white gold from the flock,
with so many naked sheep
the boss rejoices,
and under the rigor of the harvest,
I'm rounding up weeks
shears, jerky and fire.

But the day will come
to shear our sheep
and that old hope
we will see it mature,
beautiful or not,
little clouds for the poor.

Not round medallions
just a few.