La Chata de Loberia (Milonga)

A cart is coming forward
Followed by a stableman
Riding a small horse
He's behind the cart
It seems like the sun flattens him
Or the weight of his hat
A winch is already opening
And enters a field to load
Because it's coming to gather
The harvest from the pasture

Waiting to be cinched
As soon as its owner loads it
A helper takes a nap
And the pulleys of the winch
Without stopping the commotion
Don't want to stay still
The bags, turned into suitcases
Keep going up non-stop
Until they form
Two rows on the side

Then, with the creaking
At the sound of the wedges
The worker digs his nails
Trying to break apart
And with the cracking of the whips
Like gunshots
The helper curls up
And the chainman holds on
Like a cooking cat
That they pull by the tail

Heading towards the station
One day when it was loaded
It had to move aside
To make way for a truck
And since that occasion
It stayed behind, and got lost
The asphalt couldn't
Withstand all its weight
And it remained in the thick
Quagmire of oblivion

Today it's fit for a chicken coop
But loaded with glory
And its picturesque sign
Has already passed into history
All the luxury of its gear
Went with it, too
The cart from Loberia
That in other times used to
Pass heading to Quequén!