So much humility my bark has seen,
and so much shade has been given
by this thick roofing
Centuries, long centuries
sheltering these fields of wheat
and scarcity,
of abundant nostalgia,
of cattle and villages.
Years, many years
providing shelter
to those who knew hunger,
effort, simplicity and mourning,
fathers of fathers,
the sons of this land.
From here life's crags are dominated
and the beauteous summits
of nature.
I am the guardian and the lighthouse
of the white hermits
crowning
these wildernesses of beech and
chestnut trees,
pure air and heaths.
I am the south
of the north,
the roots of Bermiego
the banner of Quirós,
identity and strength.
And in these branches still bleeds
the blood of the past,
and the pain of our folk,
their thrust and valor,
breed and nobility.
So much history is carved in this
enduring trunk
which even now pays hommage
to the deep cracks
in these townships,
and the quartered faces
of the landscape and its valleys
of labourers and grandmothers.
So much living memory
in the wide heart
of this living wood.
Traducción de © Kean David Haine
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