In front of my mother's door
my blanket on the verge
grew a fertile oak tree
a tall rowan above me.
Spread its branches
spread a leaf,
branched its branches,
spread a leaf

Stand when the wall is falling,
hear the wind in the alley."
A windy wind nearby,
would lay down the top wax.
He would take a word, bring another,
an apple on his branch.
br/>Bring a bird flying,
on the right path of happiness.
I put the gate on the belly of fire,
you put the messages next to it.
You were not worried...
Pivn's son is white
took it to do.
The oak became a connoisseur,
the tree grew tall.
Prepare the birds to sing,
you gold to fall.
Pivn's son is white,
lemmen conjured up wax.
There was no worry...
By my mother's door,
Beside her gate
There grew an oak with acorns
High above the rowan.
It stretched its shoulders wide,
Spreading its leaves around,
It stretched its shoulders wide,
Spreading its leaves around,
Who knows what the oak is thinking,
Standing there so tall.
Who knows what the oak is thinking,
Standing there so tall.
"Not a care have I in the world,
Not a thought in my head.
Just standing here against the wall,
Listening to the breezes."
The wind whistled through the branches,
Setting the tip in turmoil,
Words bringing and bearing away,
An apple on its branches.
Brought a little bird flying,
On the road to happiness,
Sitting on the gate chirping,
Singing its message far and wide.
"Not a care ..."
Came the dawn,

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