It was here she gave birth to her bastard baby boy
and here did the baby sleep to her lullabies.
Here lies the woolen cloth which she forced inside
his little, tender mouth.
Aren’t you getting the stench of the baby’s rotting body,
for it was here she had hidden her beloved?
She took her pilgrimage through this dry terrain,
through this dust, through this Brazil.
Many days into her pilgrimage
it was here she was raped once.
Many weeks into her pilgrimage
it was here she was raped the second time.
Many months into her pilgrimage
it was here she was raped the third time.
It was here she felt compassion towards
her fourth rapist, the young shepherd boy.
Perhaps you can see her black hair,
which she cut off to redeem her weakness.
It was here she met the Blessed Jesus the Counselor
and these are the divine streets of Belo Monte
where she walked.
Maria Quadrado, Mother of Men,
one among the truest of all Christians,
lie buried here.
