Tico, tico, ticoti, tico, tico, ticoti
In the place of tears I the singer watch my flowers; they are in my hand; they intoxicate my soul and my song, as I walk alone with them, with my sad soul among them.
In this spot, where the herbage is like sweet ointment and green as the turquoise and emerald, I think upon my song, holding the beauteous flowers in my hand.
In this spot of turquoise and emerald, I think upon beauteous songs, beauteous flowers; let us rejoice now, dear friends and children, for life is not long upon earth.
I shall hasten forth, I shall go to the sweet songs, the sweet flowers, dear friends and children.
O he! I cried aloud; O he! I rained down flowers as I left.
Let us go forth anywhere; I the singer shall find and bring forth the flowers; let us be glad while we live; listen to my song.
I the poet cry out a song for a place of joy, a glorious song which descends to Mictlan, and there turns about and comes forth again.
I seek neither vestment nor riches, O children, but a song for a place of joy.
Totoco, totoco.
Nahuatl indian (anonymous) 16th century, Mexico
Translated by Daniel G. Brinton
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