Ramito De Violeta

She was happy in her marriage
But her husband was the devil himself
The guy had a bit of a temper
She complained he was never tender
It's been over three years now
She gets letters from a stranger
Letters filled with poetry
That have brought her back her joy

Who was writing you those verses, tell me girl, who was it?
Who sent you flowers in the springtime?
Who every November ninth
As always, without a card, yes, yes, yes
Sent you your bouquet of violets?

Sometimes she dreams and imagines
What that guy who cherishes her so much would be like
He’s probably an older man
With a big smile and tenderness in his hands
Who could that be, that silence?
Who could be her secret love?
She, who knows nothing, looks at her husband and
Then she stays quiet

And every evening when her husband comes home
Tired from work
She glances at him sideways, says nothing because he knows everything
She’s just happy any way it goes
Because he’s the one writing her verses
He’s her lover, her secret love
She, who knows nothing, looks at her husband and
Then she stays quiet