La Pobrecita

They call her the poor girl,
Because this zamba was born in the ranches.
With a poorly tuned guitar,
The people from Tucumán always sing it.

Out there, in the sugarcane fields,
When the night is approaching,
Through the furrows, from afar,
The flickering of fireflies can be seen.

Little sun of the road,
Moonlight of my valleys;
In the poor girl zamba of the furrow,
The people from Tucumán sing their sorrows.

My zamba has no joys:
Only sorrows the countryman has;
With the little shreds of hope,
The people from Tucumán form their dreams.

I know the sad pain
Of absences and bad pay.
In my long night, the flickering fires ignite
The disillusionment of the fireflies.