You’re crying? Why?
Ah, you have no faith. Listen. |
One lovely day we’ll see a thread of smoke
rising from the edge of the sea. |
| And then the ship appears. |
The white ship enters the port,
roaring its greeting. |
You see? He has come.
I don’t go down towards him. |
I stay at the top of the hill, and I wait
a long time. The wait isn’t a burden for me. |
Coming out of the crowd is a man
who makes his way toward the hill. |
Who can it be?
When he arrives, what will he say? |
| He will call “Butterfly” from a distance. |
I stay hidden without answering,
a little to tease… |
…and a little so as not to die
at the first meeting. |
Rather worried, he will call,
“Little wife, fragrance of verbena…” |
| …the names he gave me when he was here. |
All of this will happen, I promise you.
Keep your fear to yourself. |
| With secure faith I wait for him. |
