The enemy and his accomplice,
sour and frozen like adventurous gods,
spotted a young Cuban man, at his prime in a beret
between the cliffs of the Beach of Girón.
They contemplated the steam going from the district.
Already outlaws,
they hissed at the perched owl
above the mouth
of the cannon
of the militiaman's rifle.

Today the sun enters an office.
Reclining against the machines
for writing reports and memories,
in shirtsleeves,
another man grasps his clean memory.
Everything served this brave young man,
falling,
possessed by the morning,
to the ground,
this earth that he, like no other,
looked after and guarded in the best of his dreams.

El enemigo y su cómplice,
agrios y frios, como dioses aventurados,
vieron a un joven cubano cebar su boina
entre los manglares de Playa Girón.
Contemplaron el vaho saliendo del distrito.
Ya forajidos,
silbaron el búho posándose
sobre la boca del
cañón del fusil del miliciano.

Hoy entra el sol a una oficina.
Inclinándose sobre su máquina
de escribir informes y memorias,
en mangas de camisa,
otro hombre empuña su limpio recuerdo.
Todo sirvió al joven valiente,
cayendo,
endemoniado del mañana,
a tierra,
esta tierra que él, como ninguno,
veló y guardó en el mejor de sus sueños.