There are two little black birds sitting on a tree:  One named Patra, One named Pauline

Cry away Patra, your sorrows and your worries,

Your doubts and your concerns,

Your fears and your reservations. 

Don’t tell Pauline, don’t tell her.

Smile away Pauline,  the three has thorns

The leaves are brown and the fruits are stale, 

The hawk can see you and Patra is pale.

Don’t show Patra, don’t show her.
Come back Patra, wipe your tears,

Be happy patra, the hawk is on holiday

The branch is shaky but Pauline may catch you

Lean on her wings, lean on her.
Come back Pauline, don’t leave her

The shaky branch is from her shivers

The hawk might come still, it’s only midday

Be strong Pauline

Be still Patra


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