Dia De Los Muertos Poem by Momiji Halo

On the day of November 1st
Is the time which others call cursed
A celebration is at hand
For all the children who have left our lands.

The next day, do you remember?
All the adults that have gained their eternal slumber.
The Street of Remembrance, a lit glowing.
And the alters alters all growing.

The legends of the Cempasuchil flower.
Or the flower of the dead, a name that will never weaver.
A request to the gods, the fields the next day.
Were all full of the amazing flower to show the stay.

So there it is, Dia de los Muertos in the full.
Just be careful when you look into their skulls.
You might find a prize.
Hidden beneath the bigger surprise.