He harnesses himself to the day's carriage of light And the dawn swallows him up in the fields until he disappears. He likes to caress the field as if he were a lover In the crystal clear sleep, when the night starts to unravel. Eternal clock in the calendar of time, the man of the fields Carries within him the time of the entire country And takes it up higher in the large circle of the horizon Where his parents have passed through in layers for centuries.
And his word is as simple as a heavy stone That rolls over the deeply plowed land, Where his ancestors have kneeled Guarding this land for two thousand years.
His longing wanders over furrows, and the bird can feel him... In his chapped hands the seed comes into life. And the entire field acknowledges him every morning As it would a god that foretells the abundance.