"Oh, great parents,
who after having selected fruits sown
on a barrel and uneducated planet
you have abandoned us like flowers without dew...
Guardians of a growing earth,
come to you this song of hope and pain...
The crops are ripe,
the trees have grown and produced
in abundance...
Our duty is over.
The children of our children,
born in the wake of a foreign land,
will forget - perhabs - your promise...
But we, the fruit of the wisdom coming of Heaven,
we did not erase from our minds the faces of the parents.
And every day and every night that this planet provides
attentive we scrutinize the clouds,
waiting to see you coming back on the trucks of fire,
to pick up what you have left behind."
- Ancestral Quechua Song
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