Song Of The Rider by Federico Garcia Lorca

Cordoba.
Distant and alone.

Black pony, full moon,
and olives inside my saddlebag.
Though I know the roads well,
I will never arrive at Cordoba.

Over the low plains, over the winds,
black pony, red moon.
Death is looking down at me
from the towers of Cordoba.

What a long road this is!
What a brave horse I have!
Death is looking for me
before I get to Cordoba!

Cordoba.
Distant and alone.

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