Mi México de Ayer

A cute little indigenous girl had her clay stove on the sidewalk,
Her griddle, black and clean, frying tamales in lard;
And little fat cakes of dough, brown sugar, and cinnamon,
As I left my house, I bought a small bottle for school.

In the afternoon, on the streets, old ladies set up clean tables,
They sold us their custards, rice pudding in their little pots,
Delicious bread pudding, tejocotes with honey,
And at night a champurrado so thick there's none left.

These beautiful things, as I saw them,
Are no longer in my land, they're not here anymore.
Today in my Mexico it's beautiful, like never before,
But when I was a child, my Mexico had a certain something...

Cobbled, its streets were calm, beautiful, and quiet;
The vendors' calls cut through the clean air: buckets were coming,
Dirt for the flowerpots; taffy, honey,
Live maguey worms, mezcal in a leaf and honey water.

As the soldiers passed by, people came out to watch anxiously,
Even the mule train stopped, listening to the trumpet,
The carriages stopped, only one faithful old man
Who sold sugar candies improvised in verse:
"Sugar candies for half a cent and a cent
For the children who want to buy."

These beautiful things, as I saw them,
Are no longer in my land, they're not here anymore.
Today my Mexico is beautiful, like never before,
But when I was a child, my Mexico had a certain something...