My river rises from the mists of the mountains.
It flows, through the arteries of men,
of workers whose labours have gone down in history
From Juan Francisco, the shipwright of Vadillo Castril
From José Antonio, the last carpenter of the riverside
or of Jesus, fisherman from Coria.
My river flows
through the veins of the entrepreneurs of new business activities.
Angel, who swallows the harvests driving his dragon
Of José María, like Icarus, who from the sky plants and fertilises the rice fields
Of rowers, who glide over the shimmering plane of the water
Of lovers, dreaming of paradises
Of tourists, who consume mouthfuls of history
And of men, who paid their yearnings for freedom...
My river flows through millenary cultures and religions.