Les Rose Blanches - Lucienne Delyle

C'était un gamin, un gosse de Paris,

Pour famille il n’avait qu' sa mère

Une pauvre fille aux grands yeux rougis,

Par les chagrins et la misère

Elle aimait les fleurs, les roses surtout,

Et le cher bambin tous les dimanche

Lui apportait de belles roses blanches,

Au lieu d’acheter des joujoux

La câlinant bien tendrement,

Il disait en les lui donnant:

«C'est aujourd’hui dimanche, tiens ma jolie maman

Voici des roses blanches, toi qui les aime tant

Va quand je serai grand, j’achèterai au marchand

Toutes ses roses blanches, pour toi jolie maman»

Au printemps dernier, le destin brutal,

Vint frapper la blonde ouvrière

Elle tomba malade et pour l’hôpital,

Le gamin vit partir sa mère

Un matin d’avril parmi les promeneurs

N’ayant plus un sous dans sa poche

Sur un marché tout tremblant le pauvre mioche,

Furtivement vola des fleurs

La marchande l’ayant surpris,

En baissant la tête, il lui dit:

«C'est aujourd’hui dimanche et j’allais voir maman

J’ai pris ces roses blanches elle les aime tant

Sur son petit lit blanc, là-bas elle m’attend

J’ai pris ces roses blanches, pour ma jolie maman»

La marchande émue, doucement lui dit,

«Emporte-les je te les donne»

Elle l’embrassa et l’enfant partit,

Tout rayonnant qu’on le pardonne

Puis à l’hôpital il vint en courant,

Pour offrir les fleurs à sa mère

Mais en le voyant, une infirmière,

Tout bas lui dit «Tu n’as plus de maman»

Et le gamin s’agenouillant dit,

Devant le petit lit blanc:

«C'est aujourd’hui dimanche, tiens ma jolie maman

Voici des roses blanches, toi qui les aimais tant

Et quand tu t’en iras, au grand jardin là-bas

Toutes ces roses blanches, tu les emporteras»

He was a kid, a kid from Paris,

For family he only had his mother

A poor girl with big red eyes,

Through sorrows and misery

She loved flowers, especially roses,

And the dear toddler every Sunday

Brought her beautiful white roses,

Instead of buying toys

hugging her tenderly,

He said as he gave them to her:

"Today is Sunday, hold my pretty mama

Here are white roses, you who love them so much

Go when I grow up I'll buy from the merchant

All her white roses, for you pretty mama”

Last spring, brutal fate,

Came hitting the blonde worker

She fell ill and for the hospital,

The kid saw his mother go

An April morning among walkers

With no money left in his pocket

In a trembling market the poor brat,

Stealthily stole flowers

The merchant having surprised him,

Lowering his head, he said to her:

“Today is Sunday and I was going to see mum

I took these white roses she loves them so much

On her little white bed, over there she is waiting for me

I took these white roses, for my pretty mama"

The moved merchant gently said to him,

"Take them I give them to you"

She kissed him and the child left,

All beaming pardon him

Then to the hospital he came running,

To give the flowers to his mother

But seeing him, a nurse,

Quietly said "You don't have a mom anymore"

And the kneeling boy said,

In front of the little white bed:

"Today is Sunday, hold my pretty mama

Here are white roses, you who loved them so much

And when you go away, to the big garden there

All those white roses, you'll take them away"