Can I tell you how shy I am?
If I were but a simple fly,
- Though I wouldn't wish this to be true -
Rather than kiss a girl
I would sit on the wall
And wait 'til the sun turns blue.
I oft-times take lemon with my tea,
The sourness has an agreeable taste,
Yet not a woman in bed with me.
This, alas, would be too good to be true,
And rather than place my arm about her waist,
I would sit on the wall
And wait 'til the sun turns blue.
What scheme has been planted inside this head?
Pray, tell me this isn't true;
Surely, by the nature of man
I would kiss the girl
And not sit on the wall
And wait 'til the sun turns blue?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem