A Flor do Maracujá

The Passion Fruit Flower

Meeting a countryman,
Near a passion fruit tree,
I asked him:
Tell me dear countryman,
Why does the passion fruit flower bloom white and purple?

Ah, then I'll tell you,
The story I heard,
The reason why I was born white and purple,
The passion fruit flower.
Passion fruit used to be white,
I can even swear to you,
Whiter than charity,
Softer than the moon.

When the flower bloomed on it,
Far into the backlands,
Passion fruit looked like,
A cotton nest.
But one day, a long time ago,
In a month I can't even remember,
If it was May, June,
January or December.

Our Lord Jesus Christ,
Was condemned to die,
On a crucifix crucified,
Far away like what,
They nailed Christ with a hammer,
And seeing such cruelty,
The whole nature,
Started crying with sadness.

The fields cried,
The leaves, the rivers,
The mockingbird also cried,
In the orange grove the rooster,
And there was next to the cross,
A passion fruit tree,
Full of flowers,
At the feet of our Lord.

And the blood of Jesus Christ,
The blood trampled with pain,
On the feet of the passion fruit tree,
Dyed all the flowers,
Here you go young man,
The story that I saw,
The reason why it blooms white and purple,
The passion fruit flower