Carmina Romani (I)

photo from unisplash.com by Mike Labrum

The morning is soft and green,
The world is yet free of sin,
I hear the murmuring stream,
Oh, Mother, the murmuring stream.

The reindeers travelling south,
A famine follows a drouth,
The lullaby out of your mouth,
Oh, Mother, it’s out of your mouth.

The air is warm and thin,
The room is tidy and clean,
Why is there a tear on your chin,
Oh, Mother, a tear on your chin?

The sky is heavy and pale,
The orchard is wrecked with a gale,
The innocents flee to a jail,
Oh, Fellow, they flee to a jail.

We rarely endeavour the Sun,
Now I’m sure that my fate is done,
You’ve told me to dump that gun,
Oh, Fellow, to dump that gun.

The dawn has drowned in the dale,
Let’s hoist our ragged sail,
The chant of a nightingale,
Oh, Fellow, the chant of a nightingale.

The skin on your palm is rough,
Akin to my woollen scarf,
I’d bet that you can’t get enough,
Oh, Lover, you can’t get enough.

Remember a tree we climbed,
One oak that was rotten inside?
The canary flies out of sight,
Oh, Lover, it flies out of sight.

The city survives the flood,
A square dozen gets shot,
And every sin is forgot,
Oh, Lover, all sins are forgot.

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