A sus madres les preguntan por el trigo y por el vino; se desploman por las calles, como heridos de muerte, y en el regazo de sus madres lanzan el último suspiro.
To their mothers they say, `Where corn and wine?' In their becoming feeble as a pierced one In the broad places of the city, In their soul pouring itself out into the bosom of their mothers.
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