The river goes running reddish

by the purple sun of the blood-red decline,

is going torrential, shallow in the edge,

having one shining space, another shadowy.

On a side, in the prairie, on the grass,

sat down close to the daughter, in the greenness,

Maria now tries to see the jungle

and to see her canoe now searches.

Sudden it arrives intrepid, quick,

the small canoe, the music skell echoes;

a dog shakes the tail, pleasant,

staring its owner that comes at the prow.

The sun, even with the waters still shines.

The canoe comes, swift, arriving.

«Dad already comes, mom!» murmurs the daughter.

«He already comes, already comes...» murmurs the mother.

The good husband arrives; Maria hugs him,

and he, then, smiling, the daughter kisses,

and he spies a group of birds that flies

and that the happy arrival he celebrates.

And father, and mother, and daughter go, smiling,

in a good consensus, happy and friend,

to the peasant cottage, where there are thousand dreams,