Beneath the Spanish sky, so dark and vast,
Where whispers of the past forever last,
Shadows dance with sorrow’s mournful breath,
In the silent night of Spanish death.

The moonlight casts a ghostly glow so pale,
As mourners tread the ancient, haunted trail,
Each step they take in solemn, quiet tread,
Echoes tales of the forgotten dead.

The winds of time caress the mournful trees,
Their branches sway in sorrow’s gentle breeze,
Each leaf that falls, a tear from heaven’s eye,
For souls that sleep beneath the Spanish sky.

In shadows deep, where history’s secrets lie,
The Spanish death speaks softly, with a sigh,
A tale of love and loss, of life and strife,
Etched in the annals of eternal life.