La Llorona

Don’t go down to the ditch, my child,
Don’t go skate alone;
For the sobbing woman, shrill and wild,
Might claim you for her own.

She weeps when the sun is murky red;
She wails when the moon is old;
She cries for her babies, still and dead,
She slammed on the pavement cold.

Abandoned by a faithless love,
Filled with fear and hate.
She flung them from the ditch above,
And made off with their skates.

Day and night, she heard their screams,
Borne on Don Roser’s crest;
Their tortured faces filled her dreams,
And gave her heart no rest.

 

Crazed by guilt and dazed by pain,
Weary from loss of sleep,
She leapt in the ditch, lashed by rain,
And drowned in the waters deep.

She seeks her children day and night,
Wandering, lost, and cold;
She weeps and moans in dark and light,
A tortured, restless soul.

Don’t go down to the ditch, my child,
Don’t go skate alone;
For the sobbing woman, shrill and wild,
Might claim you for her own.