The balanguera

The mysterious balanguera,
like a spider of subtle art,
keeps on emptying her distaff,
and pulls the thread of our life.
Like a fate it ponders well,
weaving the cloth for tomorrow.
The balanguera spins, spins,
the balanguera will spin.

Turning to glance behind
she sees the shadows of antiquity,
and in the new spring
knows where the seed hides.
She knows that the trunk that is higher
is rooted more deeply.
The balanguera spins, spins,
The balanguera will spin.

Of traditions and hopes
is woven the banner of the young,
like one who makes a bridal veil
with hair of gold and silver.
Of the childhood that is coming,
of the aged that are going.
The balanguera spins, spins,
the balanguera will spin.