Álamo Huacho
Los Huasos Quincheros
Lone Poplar
Like a green arrow to the sky,
or a brushstroke of gold,
in the glow of summer,
or in the autumn landscape.
Watcher of the paths,
that drift away with no return,
in the middle of the pasture,
there stands the lone poplar.
Little poplar, lone poplar,
solitary on the road,
just like you, I’m alone,
face to face with my fate.
By the mirror of the stream,
with its gentle weeping water,
green sign of hope,
there stands the lone poplar.
Music.
To your foliage caught,
like a red mane,
there’s a blooming quintral,
cleansing your chimera.
Meanwhile, I have nothing,
and even if you die for love,
poplar, you’re not so alone,
you have that love at least.
Little poplar, lone poplar,
solitary on the road,
just like you, I’m alone,
face to face with my fate.
By the mirror of the stream,
with its gentle weeping water,
green sign of hope,
there stands the lone poplar.
