The smoke rises in the air,
The scent of burnt meat, sugar skulls, and the
Incense of sacred offering.
Tonight is the night we commune with our dead.
Our children dress as skeletons,
Little ex-caballeros,
And we feast at the gravesides of our
Dearly beloved,
Long been parted
Friends.
We do not fear Death,
Because it carries within it,
Faces familiar, and tonight we gaze again.
Dias los Muertos
Buenas Noches.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem