leqsebi

VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN
Come and open the door!”
When he didn’t answer,
This really made me sore.
He couldn’t read the prayer book,
I tore it away from him.
The deacon, too, got on my nerves,
I punched him on the chin.
Soon I quieted down,
I’d been upset, of course.
Before the groomsmen came,
I jumped back on my horse.
I spurred him and galloped off,
I left them in my dust.
The bridegroom hollered after me:
“Hey, lady! Wait for us!”
All of their fuss and yelling,
I paid no heed to it.
Halfway down the road I stopped,
Took out an apple and bit.
I arrived at the palace gates
And jumped down from my horse.
They invited me to the table;
I broke a bowl, of course.
When they brought me a drinking horn
This certainly pleased me.
They brought me wine in a jug:
I slugged it down with glee.
Then they brought out a pitcher,
I drank and slaked my thirst.
My mother-in-law came toward me;
I turned my back on her,
She put some sugar in my mouth.
Too bad her fingers got bit.
Then I went back in the house
And looked for a place to sit.
I placed a pillow on a chair
And plopped down on my seat.
I whispered to my mother-in-law:
“I want something to eat.”
She roasted me a shishkebab.
This insulted me.
I rummaged through the cupboard
For food of quality.
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