White scroll and a scarlet sash,
I ditch the garden beds ablush poppy.
Loud ringing of the village dance,
there she, where she sings.
I remember, both cried, shigaya in frame:
"What, beautiful you, but the heart does not endeared.
Ring curls wind burns your,
Comb my eye on the other protects ".
I know, than a stranger to her, and what I am is not nice:
I danced less and less all the drinking.
Humbly, I sadly stood against the wall:
All of them were drunk and singing.
his happiness, that there is less shame,
The neck she climbed his beard.
Rolled up to him in a burning ring of dancing,
She splashed laughing in my face.
White scroll and a scarlet sash,
I ditch the garden beds ablush poppy.
Mack loving heart blooms ...
Not me, she sings.
1915
