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I’ll marry your son


I sent the boy an apple and took his ribbon;

The apple he ate but I kept the ribbon

And tied it in my hair and went to promenade.

I went down to the shore down by the seaside;

Where women were dancing who caught me to the dance.

From my agitation and the turn of the dance,

My mantilla slipped off and the ribbon showed.

His mother beheld it and from her window crowed:

Girl, who gave you that who gave you my son’s ribbon?

- Your son gave it to me, he’ll make me his woman.

And venerate me as his wife with a golden crown.

- A curse on your wedding, a curse on your delights;

Let there be lightning and fire to fall in your courts!

- Like it or not, you’re my mother-in-law, I’m the bride;

If you like it or not, with your son I’ll reside.

Here and there are artisans sitting around

So make a chain of silver and have your son bound.

If I come to untie him, it will be my shame

But if he comes to get me, I’ll rejoice again.



Dance Poetry
A comprehensive anthology
Edited by Alkis Raftis
Copyright 2012