Ramito de Violetas
Erika Buenfil
Bouquet of Violets
She was happy in her marriage
Even though her husband was a real jerk
He had a bit of a temper
And she complained he was never tender.
For over three years now
She’s been getting letters from a stranger...
Letters full of poetry
That have brought her back her glee.
Who was writing her verses, tell me who it was
Who sent her flowers every springtime buzz
Who every ninth of November
As always without a card
Sent her a bouquet of violets.
And every evening when her husband comes home
Tired from work, he glances at her alone
He doesn’t say a thing because he knows it all
He knows she’s happy, no matter how small.
Because he’s the one writing her verses
He’s her lover, her secret passion
And she, who knows nothing,
Looks at her husband and then stays quiet...
Who was writing her verses, tell me who it was
Who sent her flowers every springtime buzz
Who every ninth of November
As always without a card
Sent her a bouquet of violets.
