As You Pastures Your Goat

I saw thee standing on the Parra grass With all thine elegance and daintiness Thy pulchritude is like an expensive glass Oh! Thou art the image of my happiness. On thy hands is rolling rope As an heirloom from thine mother dear With all the courage and hope Shining brightly without a fear. How lovely to see thee when you sway thine hands Holding the rope of memories How beautiful thou art when you take a glance This takes all my deep-down worries. I hear the pleasant sound of thine voice That can captivate the passing boys ‘Tis your songs can heal the broken heart As you sing it with joy and with art. When afternoon come, you need to say goodbye To the Parra grass and butterflies Heading towards the lovely home To the place where you belong.