Beneath a straw hat
and beneath the scorching sun,
José counts with his fingers,
yet the sums do not come undone.

If I sowed the seed
and my sweat watered the land,
If I circled the world with
the wheels of my tractor in hand....

Now that I have the fruit,
another takes it away,
What worthless today,
triples in worth come the following day,

From his armchair,
effort and labor he claims,
Sitting in an office,
only his computer´s aims.

!How little the work of a humble farmer is deemed
In this world where his toil often goes unseen!.