We climbed up the hill and looked at the country:
Sparse and barren fields, rocks and olive trees.
The vineyard faces the sea. Next to the plowshare
a small fire lurked. We let the old man's clothes become tattered and become the tattered old man's clothes leaning against a heap of inferior coal. And our days
are leading to a small piece of bread and a huge sunshine.
A straw hat flashed under the poplar tree.
Cock on the fence. Cow in loess.
How hard do we use our hands made of stones
to organize our houses and lives? Above the beam
Year after year, there are still tears of Easter candles,
The small cross appears there through the resurrection of the dead
. This land is so lovely, full of
patience and dignity.
Every night, the statues rise from the dry well
and cautiously climb the branches