Sing for me a song
A very old-stale song
That even in my nimble days
I couldn’t dare to miss in haste
As we scramble over pies and morning milk
As we stand a hundred of miles
Listening to echoes of blabbing tunes
That faint rhythm of mother goose
Whose lines where more to me than fun.
Sing for me a song
Whose me melody rings a bell in Wales
But still to my wildest of mares
I now hardly cling to its simplest phrase
With which we ate our biscuits in glee
On the green meadow and on boulevards
Which leads to our old-aging school
Could you murmur that tune for me?
A song I’ve longed to hear.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem