Guantanamera
I am a truthful man
From where the palm tree grows
And before dying I want
To set free the poetry in my soul
My verse is light green
And it is flaming red
My verse is a wounded stag
Who seeks refuge on the mountain
I grow a white rose
In July just as in January
For the honest friend
Who gives me his open hand
With the poor people of the earth
I want to cast my lot
The brook of the mountains
Gives me more pleasure than the sea
~ Jose Marti