His mother goes around moaning.
His father wipes his tears.
I milk the cows and sweep the floor.
I don’t really count, it appears.

The neighbors come to comfort,
Have lovely words for the lad,
And when they comfort, when they weep
I sneak away all sad.

Alone up in my bedroom,
Concealed by darkest night,
That’s when I soak my bed with tears
Until the day’s first light.

Don’t they still have another,
Another son almost grown?
And what have I? Just bitter tears
That I must weep alone.

And when his comrades visit
and say he was a brave guy
I have to go out to the yard alone,
Lie down on the ground to cry.

It’s as if I can hear the shooting,
The bullets’ whistle and beat.
It’s as if I can hear him calling,
“Come soon now, Anna, my sweet!”