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Reapers, out, out,
let the spigaderuela reach.

Who spike will become
and it will cost what it will cost
because in his hands he will enjoy
the roses that make your face
by August spring.

Reapers, out, out,
let the spigaderuela reach.

If in the hands that I bless
I was an ear of wheat,
make me flour I say
and then cake or bodigo
because later I ate.

Reapers, out, out,
let the spigaderuela reach.

If I saw myself in your hands
pearls returned the grains,
because in galan rings
on his sovereign fingers
eternally walk.

Reapers, out, out,
let the spigaderuela reach.

autógrafo

Tirso de Molina (Gabriel Téllez-Gabriel Telles)
Translation from AllPoetry.com


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