A woman sang, she sang
feeling herself alone in the night,
in the night, velvety valley.

She sang and the sweetest
a woman's voice can be, that was hers.
It flowed from her lips
loving life . . .
life when it has been beautiful.

A woman sang
as in a deep forest, and without looking at her
I knew she was so sweet, so beautiful.
She sang, still
she sings . . .

Translation: 2004, Raúl Jaime Gaviria