El Bocal
No hay mirada más linda
Que la de un criollo bagual
Con su crinera enredada
Esperando rienda y bocal
En el palenque, clavado
Frente a la estancia, el zorzal
Cuantas golpeadas de potro
Que allí se ataran el bocal
Y así salían en corcovos
Hasta el desarrollo del potro
Y entonces el bocal, colgadito
En la jamada esperava por outro
Cuando los días se iban
Y el trabajo lo hacía redomón
El domero, domingueando salía
Al pueblito, de su gaucho rincón
Al bocal, que hace del potro
Tchê caballo del hombre campero
En esos versos, un regalo sencillo
Que le entrega de alma, un domero
The Bridle
There is no prettier sight
Than that of a wild Creole
With its tangled mane
Waiting for rein and bridle
In the pen, firmly planted
Facing the ranch, the thrush
How many colts were broken
There, they tied the bridle
And so they would come out bucking
Until the colt's training
And then the bridle, hanging
In the barn, waiting for another
When the days were ending
And the work was done smoothly
The horse tamer, taking it easy, would go out
To the little town, from his gaucho corner
To the bridle, which makes the colt
Hey, horse of the countryman
In these verses, a simple gift
Given from the soul, a horse tamer