Cabellera Blanca

By the fireplace
Where there is a fair of fire
The old lady prays
Her usual things

Frost of legend
That shines in my sorrows
Incense of memory
Burned on my altars

And from the bonfire emerges
Among red flashes
The chain of elves
Combing their hair

Silver hair
Snow hair
Ball of tenderness
Where a curl crosses

Blessed hair
Bathed in sadness
Winter made of tears
Curled on your head

Snowy hair
Skein of prayers
For you is the whitest
Of all my songs