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The province of Camagüey, Colonial Cuba, 1872
I was a shepherd in the mountains Whose rocks give shelter to fledgling falcons And pines are in the cool winds blown, Here too were all my fathers grown.
I could follow the goat trails blind In heavy fog, knew every kind Of chirp or bark made by the animals Who quiet creep amid the brambles.
They plucked me from my Asturias To go and fight in the Americas. Grandfather told about the war He suffered under Napoleon’s terror
And while afraid I did not flee Tied up my heart with cords of duty; I didn’t run like many did in Andalusia But was shipped off to far-flung Cuba.
A land so strange, the torrid zone, Where heat can burn the very bone And giant bugs who buzz and bite Most in the damp air of the night.
Our clothes were like a prisoners The wool each day became crueler And when any tried to joke or laugh An officer struck them with his staff.
The grandees dine in local plantations While in our tent camps the infections From wounds and bites and yellow fever Rise like a springtime gushing river.
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Remembrances of a Spanish Soldier |
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All work within this periodical is copyrighted by the authors and Big Pond Rumour, January 2008. No part is to be copied or reproduced without the written consent of the authors and Big Pond Rumour Press. |