the polish girl,
on a fantasia of chopin,
she walks,
in a street of warsaw..
street..
full of shades and mysteries.
so set fair was the weather,
summer 39..
the polish girl,
stowaway born in my imaginary,
your golden blond hair,
streaming in the breeze..
and the unsettled grey blue
of your eyes..
the polish girl,
on a forgotten mazurka,
walks on a street of warsaw..
street..
full of trees and nonchalence.
so set fair was the weather,
summer 39..
o beloved,
I never met you,
in a street of warsaw,
prag or berlin..
but engraved,
the oval of your face,
in my memory..
you,the polish girl,
gentle and slender..
I listen a funny tune,
running in your head,
when dreaming in a street of warsaw.
pure skies of mazuria..
child of sun the proud wheat,
attentive.. a raven..
so set fair was the weather,
summer 39..
my polish girl,
for ever vanished your step,
in a street of warsaw..