La Flor de la Canela

Let me tell you, woman from Lima,
let me tell you about the glory,
of the dream, that evokes the memory,
of the old bridge, the river, and the poplar.

Let me tell you, woman from Lima,
now that the memory still perfumes,
now that it still sways in a dream,
the old bridge, the river, and the poplar.

Jasmines in her hair and roses on her face,
gracefully she walked, the cinnamon flower,
she spilled smoothness and left behind,
aromas of mixture, that she carried in her chest.

From the bridge to the poplar, her small foot takes her,
on the path that trembles,
to the rhythm of her hips,
she picked up the laughter, from the river breeze
and threw it to the wind,
from the bridge to the poplar.

Let me tell you, woman from Lima,
let me tell you, dark-skinned one, my thoughts,
see if that way you wake up from the dream,
the dream that entertains, dark-skinned one, your feelings.

Breathe in the smoothness, given by the cinnamon flower,
decorate it with jasmines,
accentuating its beauty,
lay a new carpet on the bridge
and adorn the poplar,
so the river will accompany, its path along the path.

And remember that...,
Jasmines in her hair and roses on her face,
gracefully she walked, the cinnamon flower,
she spilled smoothness and left behind,
aromas of mixture, that she carried in her chest.

From the bridge to the poplar, her small foot takes her,
on the path that trembles,
to the rhythm of her hips,
she picked up the laughter, from the river breeze
and threw it to the wind,
from the bridge to the poplar.