Vieja recova

The other night as I was walking like a curda,
stride by stride, alone and sad, walking along the veredón,
I felt the edge of a sorrow that on the side of the 'left-handed' side
was treacherously determined to cut my heart.
Amidst pitiful rags a poor beggar woman
sobbing her misfortune at my side approached,
and as I threw a few coins to the old beggar woman
I saw that she covered her ashamed face with her hands.

I have seen her as a young man weaving fantasies
with her high-flying dreams and her champagne nights.
Poor thing! who would have thought of the end of her days
and the tragic and shameful alms they give her today.
I walked away, Old Recova, from her side, can you imagine!
from the friend of other times, what pain I came to feel!
What yesterday was greatness today showed only ruins,
and I could not deny them with stubborn tears.

Old Recova,
corner of her life
I found it alone and lost
like a fatal token.
Bad luck
played her a tough card,
her cards were turned upside down,
old age defeated her.
Old Recova, if you saw how much pain!