In the heart of my country, there's a tradition so dear,A bond that brings us together, year after year,The taste of yerba mate, and the warmth of friendship,A moment to cherish, and a memory to grip.
We gather around, in a circle so tight,Passing the mate gourd, from left to right,Each sip of the tea, a moment to share,As we talk and laugh, without a care.
The yerba mate, a symbol of our land,A taste so unique, that we all understand,A drink that connects us, in ways so profound,A bond that never fades, and forever resounds.
With each passing round, the conversation flows,As we catch up on life, and share our highs and lows,The laughter and smiles, that fill the air,A reminder of the love, that we all share.In the traditions of my country, there's a beauty so true,A bond that's unbreakable, and forever renewed,The taste of yerba mate, and the warmth of friends,A moment to cherish, until the very end.
