Hard work in the salt pans

What with the white glare

Of the sea salt laid in fields

The men bowed over with their large shovels

And the girls driving the donkey trucks.

His grandfather worked all his life under the glaring sun.

His grandson aged seventeen

Began work and lasted only one hour

Because of his bad back.

Now the building of the salt workers

Is turned into a salt museum

And perfumed girls with blue fingernails

Show the well-fed tourists around.