Winning song at the 30th Sapecada da Canção Nativa It also won the award for Best Melody. Lyrics: Marcelo Mendes and Rafael Ferreira Music: Mauro Silva On stage: Daner Marinho, Aparício Maidana, Gabriel Jardim, Odair Teixeira, Lucas Gross and Mauro Silva Singer João de clay on the fence post, After the whole week of drizzle and downpour , It soaked poncho, sombrero, aperos and winters, Washing the sweat of the herds in the eyes of this peasant. I sought the rhyme in time, while the sun kills, Which has been judging the ways, the noose and the tyrant. Like a sitting bagual, who won't be tamed by anything, Carding his mane stuck on a coastal platform. This clay verse of mine marked poetry with its hoof And at the dawn of the day it caught a rosette of spurs, Splashing without delay, when I dismounted at the gate, It went out along the barrigueiras to go out into the field. And when I filled the troops in these restless stanzas, Marks of the complete mixture of land, water and work. My horse's bridle, all dirty with desire, Makes history in reticence... releasing chunks of clay. And the barreiro remains firm, always attentive in his service, Singing his commitment in a quincha ranch to heaven. While in some crowd, in the passerby of the marshland, a campeiro crossed with clay even on his hat. The verse that still sings, at the time of unhooking, Unfastens the wheels after some mishap, Leaving a sinuous trail, tangled in the refrain, Talking about my gray hair, changing the color of its fur. Motivation: Last spring, during a period of heavy rain in Rio Grande do Sul, where the authors, who in addition to being poets and composers work as veterinarians, had their days working in the field marked by this harsh weather scenario. The clay then became verse, in João Barreiro's song, in the dirty mane of a foal, in the hoof-marked hose, in the blocked gates, in the locking of a horse in the campeiro commitment. The clay on the poncho, hat, and even after unraveling it still stained the gray hair. Time can be ugly, punish aperos and stop spurs, but even so, the poet finds reasons to write. And soon the melody appears, like the sun, to dry the clay verse and perpetuate it in song.