Milonga Abaixo de Mau Tempo

Strange thing, the whole herd,
Suffering the pain of hunger with their snouts in the water,
The flooded field forces us to pray,
In the task of carrying the sorrows to mourn.

The sad gaze of the cattle crossing the river,
The drool of the tired drowning the return,
The cunning of those who yell in the thicket,
And the shout of those who enclose, rounding up the herd.

Grab the lasso, friend, while the ox is alive,
The flood is damn bothering the pasture,
As the pampa of the mil reis is cleared...,
And the food that is eaten, echoing the time,
Separates in the rodeo the local loneliness,
Struggling with whatever reason wants...

(Loved one, I miss you...
Tell me the mare is pregnant, the pig is fat,
The bay is loose,
That all the animals at home have eaten.) Repeat

Such bad luck, this dreadful plague,
Curing the most diseased gave fever to the cattle,
If it weren't for the heavy rain acting up,
It would bring a thousand heads with the blessing of the homeland!

I missed the little saint cleaning the trinkets,
And the string of leather from the prayer ropes,
Right after, it's Holy Week,
I go blindly to the bank and only then will I see her...