The flowers say good-bye to me,
they bend their heads and bow low down,
which means that I will never see
her lovely face and my home town.
Well, that’s the way it is, my love!
I saw them all in habitation,
I take this deathly trepidation
for tender feeling, still alive.
I’ve learnt my life day after day,
I have been living with a smile, and
thus I invariably say:
In our world all is recurrent.
Well, some one else will come along,
no grief will sooth the past. The new one,
perchance, will sing a better song
for the beloved forsaken woman.
And listening to the song, maybe,
caressing her endeared lover,
she’ll probably remember me
as a unique and cherished flower.