Heights and short trees,
Hot winter, red stones,
Cold water, abundant falls,
The pale green leaves
And unforgiving blue sky.

These words,
Although accurate,
Could not be more wrong.
Guimarães is your name,
Only freezing bones
In freezing was can tell
The truth about you:
Nothing human is found in you,
Not even the humanity of people
Imprinting landscapes through our half known truths,
Touching the imagination of our history
Hoping our shouts to be heard
For these same people, in the future.

Nothing human:
All is magic.