I was doing the last one hundred kilometres.
The Spanish hills rolled away before me.
Thirst quenched with countless watery litres.
The dusty road stretched before me as far as the eye could see.

I was on my way to the Compostela shrine.
To find the relics of St James.
I just had to follow my son along this pilgrim line.
Before and after me there were and had been be countless unknown names.

The legs are tired.
The mind numbed.
But hope inspired.
This labour some small token for a spiritual bank funded.

And now the city is before me.
The Cathedral, the Botafumeiro, a certificate, and beyond an indifferent sea.