Circling the roses with pockets full of posies:
ashes, ashes we all fall down.

You and I used to play duck, duck, goose
and in a loud voice I'd say, "Got you!"

And when you were the goose,
you ran and jumped about the house.

I think about those times and in my sadness cry
for you dear friend.
Since in my heart these memories of you
are still warm.

And when we were young, about the same age,
we used to play with our dolls
and imagine we were married.
I pretended to be the mother
who would come to you in the morning
and ask for help with the baking.

And we used to be so afriad when we were little
of those bogeymen with big ears on their heads,
crawling about on all fours: their faces changing
from one thing to another.

But, my dear, when you were married you forgot
all those things your mother told you
when you were young.
Yes, Love made you forget.

So I cry for you but cannot go to your grave:
my feet won't take me from this place;
for I shouldn't see you dead, nor let myself go
for sorrow's sake --