Romance de Una Esperanza

I don't know if it could have been your hand in a sowing flight
Or your voice when it told me with spontaneous innocence
In his life as a cowboy there is no place for
Affection to take root or make love flourish
Because distance is a weed color of doubt and absence

I don't know if it could have been your voice of a bride with sorrow
But I looked at the immense field and anchored in the saddle
I called the gentle oxen and came to plow the land
United to the roads, I almost forgot my ancestry
And riding years and dreams, all paths saw me
Owner of the Southern Cross in long nights without sorrow
And resonant chest up in the green meadows

And I liked to have an illusion in a fork
One end, all flower and the other end, all star
I don't know, I don't know if it could have been your voice of a bride with sorrow
But today this life of walking without the Sun of longing hurts me
It's that the cowboy's course challenged my experience
Showed me new landscapes, other people, other traces
But all the variations are nothing more than on the surface
Inside, only the distance of sorrows varies

I don't know if it could have been your goodbye from the gate
The spell of your mate or your silky words but
But I am not the same, I only see your longing
Ah! What a beautiful land, the land of my love among the mountains
The water in that water tank, mirror of your beauty
Wet eye of the sky, round mouth of freshness
What a beautiful field of yours, golden moon at midday nap
Golden cup gathering all the spring Sun

And the patio; open in an embrace, flowery with ivy
Multicolored with geraniums, poppies and if you were leaving
And some malva embers in a red fire attitude
And your big eyes, ah!, your big eyes, faithful guardians of sweet promises
And your joyful mouth and the gleam of your braids
And I, who am not the same as the illusion in a fork

Even the road scares me when I think it takes me
To a direction that is not your embrace and I only dream of the return
I don't know if it could have been your voice of a bride with sorrow
The opa becomes a knot, the throat like tinder
And it becomes uphill to walk, riding sorrows
The round!, with so much alert rigor
Pastures are bad, waterholes, these droughts
And the Sun, the rain and the cold, the frosts, the storms
And I, who am not the same dreaming of a new life!
Ha! Life?, the life of the sower when he works the land
And has joys distributed with sorrows
Shouldering the canvas, the seed, the full faith
Heart in hand, hand in sowing flight
And a horizon of light diagramming the harvest

I don't know if it could have been your voice of a bride with sorrow
But I looked at the immense field and anchored in the saddle
I called the gentle oxen and here I am plowing the land
And I don't know! I don't know if it could have been, your voice of a bride with sorrow