Shall we go, sister, shall we sleep,
at the lake edges where I saw
hunt the birds, my beloved.
Shall we go, sister, shall we amuse
at the lake edges where I saw
hunt the birds, my beloved.
At the lake edges where I saw
his arc in the hand wounding the birds
hunt the birds, my beloved.
At the lake edges where I saw
his arc in the hand shooting the birds
hunt the birds, my beloved.
His arc in the hand wounding the birds
and the ones who sang, let them run away,
hunt the birds, my beloved.
His arc in the hand shooting the birds
and the ones who sang do not want them killed,
hunt the birds, my beloved.
Fernando Esquio (late 13th - early 14th century) Spain
Translated by Isaac Pereira
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