Palomita blanca

His absence gave me this grief,
and sometimes his memory is a good
that soon drowns me in pain...
And nothing consoles me
of going ever farther away
to see myself without her.
My step goes forward
and my heart behind.
The course that takes me away so cruel,
robs me of her caresses of love,
and only the thought sees her,
listens to her in rapture,
kisses her with longing,
feels her by my side.
And I go, thus dreaming,
farther and farther away...

White little dove that flies by
on your way to the little house where my love is,
little white dove, for the sad absent one
you are like a letter of remembrance...
If you see her whom I adore
without saying that I cry, give her some idea
of how very bitter it is to live without her,
what it is to lose her loving warmth...
Go on, pingos of my troop,
that from a wandering wind we are a storm clouds
and in a bad absence our lives go away
always to the querencia saying goodbye...
Little white dove!
flies night and day from my nest in search
and I wrote in the sky with serene flight:
'Never forget you, just think of you'.

He doesn't know who never left
his beloved at a distance, the sorrow
that to the soul imposes a hard rigor,
that comes from the ladero,
who at times names her
measuring the path,
looking there in the shadows
the payments she left behind...
I have seen her in my arms crying
I have seen her when I turned around as she left
her warm handkerchief waving,
and then her distant image
her distant image...
and in my soul enlarged
her charm... and this sorrow
of not having her anymore...