Un ramito de violetas
Cecilia
A bouquet of violets
She was happy in her marriage
Although her husband was the same demon
The man had a bit of a bad temper
And she complained that he was never tender
For more than three years now
She receives letters from a stranger
Letters full of poetry
That have brought back her joy
Who was writing her verses, tell me who it was
Who sent her flowers in the spring
Who every ninth of November
As always without a card
Sent her a bouquet of violets
Sometimes she dreams and imagines
What the one who loves her so much will be like
He would be a man with gray hair
Open smile and tenderness in his hands
She doesn't know who suffers in silence
Who could be her secret love
And she lives day by day
With the illusion of being loved
Who was writing her verses, tell me who it was
Who sent her flowers in the spring
Who every ninth of November
As always without a card
Sent her a bouquet of violets
And every evening when her husband returns
Tired from work, he looks at her sideways
He doesn't say anything because he knows everything
He knows she is happy, in any case
Because he is the one writing her verses
He is her lover, her secret love
And she, who knows nothing
Looks at her husband and then stays silent
Who was writing her verses, tell me who it was
Who sent her flowers in the spring
Who every ninth of November
As always without a card
Sent her a bouquet of violets
