Fly little sparrow, don’t you stay,
it’s not a day for singing.
The morning air is cold and still,
even the bells aren’t ringing.
Go little sparrow, fly away
for sorrows weep this morning.
‘Tis sad this day, my little friend;
God’s own fields are mourning.
Please little sparrow, off with you;
such horrors, ‘tis hard believing.
Take to the air, leave Flanders fields,
your heart’s too small for grieving.
it’s not a day for singing.
The morning air is cold and still,
even the bells aren’t ringing.
Go little sparrow, fly away
for sorrows weep this morning.
‘Tis sad this day, my little friend;
God’s own fields are mourning.
Please little sparrow, off with you;
such horrors, ‘tis hard believing.
Take to the air, leave Flanders fields,
your heart’s too small for grieving.
Comment