The Sorian Litany

The Sorian Litany

Almazan,  Matute,  Matamala,

Tardelcuende,  Quintana Redonda,

Los Llamosos,  Navalcaballo,  Soria.

Over the bridge of Almazan,
Which nobly bears the lorries and cars
That it was never made for.
Its engineers made careful plans
For a few old men chatting earnestly
And the occasional cart of wheat. 

Let’s take the old road with its bumps and bends,

As it winds through the pines and the open fields,

That stretch to the wide sky darkening now.

It has its villages too,

Though as you pass

You will not see a soul.

The men are at work in the cold brown fields,

And the women are invisible indoors

On this dark December afternoon.

Drive slowly, for the deer expect no cars

And the woods and the fields are theirs by right.
By day and by night,

They cross the road as they cross the woods,

Especially now in the half light.

Nine months of winter, three of hell,

But the quiet people bear it well.

We are driving into Soria now,

The town Machado made his own.

He came, taught French and married here,

Then he went away 
When Leonor died and he 
Was more alone

Than he ever was before.

Park here, and soon we’ll find a bar

And have a beer or two by the fire
To warm us this bitter night,

And then we’ll take the old road back again

In the cold, black night and the driving rain,
Back to the spires on the hill of Almazan.

Soria,  Navalcaballo,  Los Llamosos,

Quintana Redonda,  Tardelcuende,

Matamala,  Matute,  Almazan.