The Fake or La Dalha
In Honor of René de Recoulettes
In those days, René, they were proud of the small peasants
They left for Devèze or Paro
Clogs of nine feet and the scythe on the back
Musette with the shoulder and pint of wine for the good time.
In those days, Rene the grass smelled so good,
The meadows filled with colors and perfumes were celebrating.
The false sharpened like razors, danced in songs,
Aligning the Andean grass with high heads.
For St John, blows rained on the heel of the anvil,
The false holding firmly on the knee advanced gently,
A little hammer blows the wire was slowly becoming thinner
It was the top of the thumbnail that tested the flattened without gaps.
The stone was sticking in her whey,
The handle of the fake birch well set on the coffin,
From the heel to the point, the stone cheerfully sang,
Sometimes making the bougresse too greedy, then had to reduce her hunger.
At the lunch break we opened the basket
Prepared with care by the mother, everything would be tasted,
From the still hot omelette, to the ham and smoked sausage,
After the homemade cheese, our mower set off again.
At mid-work there was the snack and its famous "picaucele"
Loaf of bread with prunes, folded in his dishcloth.
For children, coffee with honey flavor
A real moment of paradise, Thank you Mom it was very good.
At that time, Rene, the time of hay and windrows announced the summer,
The false caressed the grass in the meadows,
The children put their satchels in a corner,
It was the time when the herds were feasting on good hay.
Song of yesteryear
Take your scythe and your pint for drinking
Take your hammer and your black stone
Faucheur is in June
Let the hay be mown.
Forgery and use of forgery
Work with the scythe is a task in finesse
No violence, but a work with flexibility and skill.
L’ ARIÉ…JOIE