“Here men are made from red earth, like an idea,
Like the land that consents to the linear furrows and the aggressive stubble
That turns the steadfastly faithful fields yellow.
Voice and path. Hardworking race from the country
Where all skin shines on solid bodies full of energy.
A people who speak with a blood that writes this freedom of belief,
The whole fire of sweat stained with rock dust
Which gives faces a redness full of life.
Campos, always rough, yet with human greens, place of mine.
I write this with dust from the dry land out of which grows wheat and flags.
Because I believe. Me, man of this red earth and damià of overflowing blood,
I am he who says land, country, Mallorca.”