Here on a high rock stands Chep-koy, the tall one:
His eyes recall a savannah where grasses abound;
Where valiant battles with drought were lost and won;
Where long-legged raindrops bounded the dry ground.
Today he thinks of nothing else but the dear herd,
And of the four precious herders that will take over;
He knows – has always known – this will be hard,
But has waited – all these years – for this hour.
He thinks of Chep-kiruk – she, for whom the bulls fight;
Chep-kiruk – whose milk is rich, sweet and wholesome;
O Chep-kiruk – he dreams of her, day and night;
He dreams an anxious dream – for the time has come.