SON OF THE HORSEMAN (Federico García Lorca)

 

Cordoba.  
Far off and solitary. 

Black horse, round moon,   
and olives in my saddlebag.  
Although I know the roads  
I will never get to Cordoba.  

Across the plane , into the wind,  
black horse, red moon.  
Death is staring at me
from the towers of Cordoba. 

Oh, what a long road!  
oh, my brave horse!  
Oh, death is waiting for me!,   
before arrive at Cordoba. 

Cordoba.  
Far off and solitary.

 

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