Mi gata luna

I had a cat named Moon,
She was soft as a nightingale's plume.
Her eyes were like green glass,
Her little nose was cardboard black.

My white angora cat has died,
My piece of hope has also died.
We carried her between four of us,
Wrapped in a cotton cloth, so wide.

I dug a hole behind a poplar,
With my spoon and my fork, oh so clever,
I covered her with fine sand,
And a blooming chrysanthemum, forever.

I said a prayer for her, a Father’s prayer,
And cried my last goodbye with despair.
My cat Moon dies all alone,
And I live here, lonely and bare.