Ramito de Violetas
Era feliz en su matrimonio, aunque su marido era el mismo demonio
Tenía el hombre un poco de mal genio, ella se quejaba de que nunca fue tierno
Desde hace ya más de tres años recibe cartas de un extraño
Cartas llenas de poesía que le han devuelto la alegría
¿Quién te escribía a ti versos, dime niña quién era?
¿Quién te mandaba flores en primavera?
Con amor las recibías
Como siempre sin tarjeta
Te mandaba a ti un ramito de violetas
A veces sueña, a veces se imagina
Cómo será aquel que a ella tanto la estima
Será más bien hombre de pelo cano
Sonrisa abierta y de ternura en sus manos
¿Quién será quien sufre en silencio?
¿Quién puede ser su amor secreto?
Ella que no sabe nada, mira a su marido y luego se calla
¿Quién te escribía a ti versos, dime niña quién era?
¿Quién te mandaba flores en primavera?
Con amor las recibías
Como siempre sin tarjeta
Te mandaba a ti un ramito de violetas
Cada tarde al volver su esposo
Cansado del trabajo va y la mira de reojo
No dice nada porque él lo sabe todo
Ella es así, feliz de cualquier modo
Porque él es quien le escribe versos
Él es su amante, su amor secreto
Ella que no sabe nada, mira a su marido y luego se calla
¿Quién te escribía a ti versos, dime niña quién era?
¿Quién te mandaba flores en primavera?
Con amor las recibías
Como siempre sin tarjeta
Te mandaba a ti un ramito de violetas
Bouquet of Violets
She was happy in her marriage, although her husband was the devil himself
The man had a bit of a bad temper, she complained that he was never tender
For more than three years now he has been receiving letters from a stranger
Letters full of poetry that have brought back joy
Who wrote verses to you, tell me, girl, who was it?
Who sent you flowers in spring?
You received them with love
As always without a card
I was sending you a bunch of violets
Sometimes he dreams, sometimes he imagines
What will the one who esteems her so much be like?
He will be more of a gray-haired man
Open smile and tenderness in his hands
Who will suffer in silence?
Who can be your secret love?
She who knows nothing, looks at her husband and then remains silent
Who wrote verses to you, tell me, girl, who was it?
Who sent you flowers in spring?
You received them with love
As always without a card
I was sending you a bunch of violets
Every evening when her husband returns
Tired of work, he goes and looks at her out of the corner of his eye
He doesn't say anything because he knows everything
She is like that, happy anyway
Because he is the one who writes verses to her
He is her lover, her secret love
She who knows nothing, looks at her husband and then remains silent
Who wrote verses to you, tell me, girl, who was it?
Who sent you flowers in spring?
You received them with love
As always without a card
I was sending you a bunch of violets