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I came to this country |
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18 and 49 |
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I thought myself lucky |
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For to be alive |
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I looked all around me |
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No one could I see |
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That I could compare with |
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My pretty Saree |
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I wish I was a poet |
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Could write in find hand |
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Would write my love a letter |
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One she'd long understand |
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I'd send it by the water |
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Where the islands overflow |
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And I'd think of pretty Saro wherever I go |
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'Tis not this long journey that grieves me for to go |
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Nor the country that I'm leaving |
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Nor the debts that I owe |
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There's one thing that grieves me and bears on my mind |
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That's leaving my darling pretty Saro behind |
