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(The Japanese geisha Madam Butterfly
had a brief romance with an American 
naval officer, whom she regards as her 
husband, and whom she expects will 
return to her.  She is tragically mistaken.)

Oh, are you crying, son? But why? 
It doesn't help to groan and grieve. 
The only thing is to believe. 
Believe with me, and watch the sky. 

One fine day I'll see his funnel, 
breaking the horizon's line. 
That day is going to be so fine! 
No more shadows, no more tunnels. 

So manly in his clean white suit, 
he'll steer towards my harbour wall, 
earnest, eager, ardent, tall, 
his cannon firing in salute. 

Is this him now? I saw him first! 
I won't go running down the hill: 
it's better to stay seemly, still, 
even though my breast could burst! 

The lotus bloom, true to beauty, 
must guard its dignity, serene. 
My fate, to wait with gentle mien, 
the passive, pliant geisha's duty. 

Mistaken, am I? So, so, so. 
Then we must steel ourselves, and wait. 
One day, framed in the bamboo gate, 
I'll see my husband. This I know. 

Just when it seems it cannot be, 
when crippled hope has left me weak, 
I'll hear the bamboo hinges creak - 
Lieutenant-San has come for me! 

"Can you guess who's here?" I'll cry, 
a-tremble as I smooth my hair, 
no more foreboding or despair. 
I'll run to greet him, nervous, shy. 

American, and tall and brave, 
he will call me "baby-wife", 
and, just like in the other life, 
I'll feel protected, nurtured, saved. 

"My Butterfly, my forest fern, 
my orange-blossom," he will say. 
This will happen, one fine day. 
You mark my words - he will return.

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