Peoncito del mandiocal

Your little curved body, little worker boy,
Salty hands folded over the clod
Work, child, work, the foreman is nearby.
The thirsty land cracks in the cassava field
under the scorching coastal sun.

Whack, whack goes the hoe, pounding away.
Whack, whack goes the hoe, echoing in the heart.

So small and sad, child of the plantation,
Calloused hands, roots of the hoe,
Dream, child, dream, starch sky and moon,
Harvest your hope, for the night will bring you a sun.
Sleep, little worker boy.