Yergue la caña
la tomatera
La pita toma el sol en la era
Se tumba de risa la chumbera
Estalla sin prisa la palmera
Garabato sin sentido
Esa raíz que se enrosca
Como hierro retorcido
Rompe la pizarra tosca
Y solo zumba el sonido
Del volar de una mosca
O de la gata el maullido
Si en la parra se embosca
El barranco derrumbado
Ese almendro ahí colgado
El algarrobo despeinado
El limonero bien regado
Por la rambla y por los bancales
A compás de vientos sin rumbo
Dan las palmas los cañaverales
Bailan naranjas con higos chumbos
Que bonito está el granado
El jazmín no se ha secado
Buganvilla de morado
A mi casa ya he llegado
the bamboo's
supporting the odd tomatoe
the sun bakes the cactus a hot potatoe
the vine 's falling over but not to worry
the palm is exploding without any hurry
useless stands the ancient beanstalk
breaking up the worn-out slate walk
with its roots gnarled like old fingers
wherein rural wisdom lingers
all you can hear is the buzz of a fly
the drone of a drone that is just passing by
the cat on the roof purrs its own lullaby
and late in the evening the owl and its cry
the riverbed is crumbled dry
the almond on its bank hangs high
the carob tree has said goodbye
the lemon gets water - for the pie?
the terraced garden teems with mint
to the rhytm of an aimless wind
the palm trees dance with the twigs of figs
and the orange with the chumbo jigs
the pomegranate blushes first
the jasmin has not died of thirst
the purple bougainvillea winks
I have reached my home, me thinks.
