One fine day
we’ll see a thread of smoke rising… …out on the horizon,
and then the ship will appear The white ship will sail into port It will fire its cannon
Can you see? He’s back I don’t go down to meet him I stand on the brow of the hill, and wait And the long wait means nothing Out of the bustling town… …comes a man, a tiny dot,
heading for the hill Who can it be? And when he arrives, what will he say? He’ll call ‘Butterfly!’ from afar I’ll say nothing, but stay hidden Partly to tease, and partly… …so as not to die
when we first meet again. He’ll be a little overcome,
and call, ‘Little wife, verbena blossom!’ The names he used to call to me
when he was here This will all come true,
I promise you Keep your fear to yourself.
With a faith that can’t be shaken… …I’m waiting for him.