The roses had already bloomed, winter was fading—
and I went away.
That day I recall that I still loved you
but I left you.
At first, you no longer knew whether to live or die.
But after a while
you returned to live again because no one is as much of an angel
as you are.
Our house was small but you kept it nice
just for me.
You lived alone and sad but you had hope
inside of you.
And the months now passed by and faded
more and more—
until that cloudless day that you found a letter
written by me.
Love, I miss you—wait if you wish.
Love, I miss you—wait if you wish.
Now it was a December day—now you no longer thought of me
when I returned.
I saw you near the tree and you smiled immediately
upon spotting me.
One word was enough for you to come back
into my arms.
But the next morning I said this to you and then
I went away.
Love, I miss you—but I will not return.
Love, I miss you—but I will never return.
The roses had already bloomed, winter was fading—
and I went away.
The swallows told me that, in that small house,
you are no longer there.
And it is I who no longer know whether to live or die
without you.
The roses are dead now—love, my love,
I will miss you.
And it is I who no longer know whether to live or die
without you.
The roses are dead now—love, my love,
I will miss you.