the hay wagon

poem by Robert Reinick

translated and recreated by Ruth Salles

Right in the middle of the village, the little church on the hill
ring your bell, and I pass by.
The hen clucks, watch the dove fly,
and in the lake the ducklings have already gone swimming.

There on the bridge a boy sings the song,
and the wagon, screeching, makes a trail on the ground.
Loaded with hay, it comes rolling,
up there, Zezinho and Tonha screaming.
And they sway like that, then they laugh.
In the night the joy of the two resounds.

Every king has his throne. How handsome he is!
“But hay is better to sit on”, says Zé.
“And when I am king, I will want to sit
on my throne of hay that squeaks as it passes.”

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