Trotecito de Navidad

(Trot)

Trotting, trotting, my dear,
the muleteers head towards the manger.
They can't bring gifts,
just their loads of salt.

Trot, little donkey,
let's go say hi
they say there's a little child
who will relieve us from work.

With such haste they carry,
the night is already upon them.
How cold the ravine is,
how cold the salt is.

The smallest donkey
has strayed from the place,
but look at the star
calling him from the manger.

And when he sees the little child,
so poor, he will warm him up
and his salty load
will turn into gold, my dear.