It was a kid, a rascal of Paris, For family it had his mother qu ' A poor ox-eyed girl reddened, By grief and misery She liked flowers, roses especially, And the dear kid every Sunday He brought nice pink half notes, Instead of buying playthings Fondling it very tenderly, He said by giving them to him:
' It is today on Sunday, yours my pretty mum Here are pink half notes, you who likes them so much Go when I shall be big, I shall buy from the trader All her pink half notes, for you pretty mum '
Last spring, violent destiny, The working fair-haired woman came to knock It felt sick and for the hospital, The kid saw leaving his mother A morning of April among the walkers Having no more one under in its pocket On a very trembling market the poor kid, Furtively steals flowers The trader having surprised it, By lowering the head, he says to him:
' It is today on Sunday and I was going to see mum I took these pink half notes she likes them so much On her small white bed, over there it waits for me I took these pink half notes, for my pretty mum '
The trader full of emotion, slowly says him, ' Take them I give them to you ' It embraced it and the child left, Very radiant that they excuse it Then to the hospital it came by running, To give flowers to his mother But by seeing it, a nurse, Any bottom says to him ' You do not have mum anymore ' And the kid kneeling said, In front of the small white bed:
' It is today on Sunday, yours my pretty mum Here are pink half notes, you who likes them so much And when you will leave, in the big garden over there All these pink half notes, you will take them '
