Mantelito Blanco

White tablecloth, from the humble table,
where we share the family bread.
White tablecloth, made by my mother,
in endless winter hours.

Your drawings have small figures,
crazy little birds that want to fly,
my mother embroidered them, on those nights,
when next to my cradle she taught me to pray.

Music. (Guitar)

There are two large letters, on the tablecloth,
venerated letters that I will always remember,
they are the initials, of my two old folks,
absent forever, forever and ever.

Your drawings have small figures,
crazy little birds that want to fly,
my mother embroidered them, on those nights,
when next to my cradle she taught me to pray.