Munyinga

Come and listen, boys, to the milonga
this milonga of the heart,
that in order to dance to the bellows that grumbles
a song is needed;
for the love of a pretty chiruza,
milonga of mine you have to sing,
you are like a flower that gives itself to the criollo
to tanguar, you're like a flower that gives its soul to the criollo.

The strumming of a guitar made you
triumphant echo,
the one who dances to you leaves on the floor
an initial,
you look like a moan coming out
from the bandoneon,
between its folds hides the bird
of a song.

For you the good little girl left
as if bewitched by a love,
and in your weeping compass like a grief
the payador weaves his verses;
you have the sweetness of a bride in your murmurs
flowers of eaves there are in your sound,
and you go sensual quartiando to the loves
by the slope of the heart.