Under that moon it was summer
Scorching sun still in the air
And to harvest happiness the dream of occupation,
All unproductive and productive land too,
For thinking of justice
The land belongs to the poor
For this way the knack of production will be noble
What delays this struggle?
And when the best proposal
Is the fruit of our discussion,
We rise up and act as one
Our hearts thumping
Dreaming of the victory
Of seeing this ground planted
Only to share again,
When this countryside flowers,
And the flowers turn to grain!
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