The Poet

I wear the mask of a hawk,
El Viejo, the magnificent one,
Galloping across the beach,
Surfing the waves,
Protector of su casa,
Ever faithful,
Ever loyal.

Listen! The magnificent one has not died.
We hear his spirit with the howling of the winds.
We hear his spirit with the roaring of the waves…

Mourners! Open your eyes;
Once again, you shall see the magnificent one
Bounding across the beach,
Forever faithful,
Forever loyal.

Whenever the burning sun sinks its head
Beneath the verdant mountains,
El Viejo raises its head.