I came to this country
18 and 49
I thought myself lucky
for to be alive
I looked all around me
no one could I see
that I could compare with
my pretty Saree
I wish I was a poet
could write in find hand
would write my love a letter
one she’d long understand
I’d send it by the water
where the islands overflow
and I’d think of pretty Saro wherever I go
’tis not this long journey that grieves me for to go
nor the country that I’m leaving
nor the debts that I owe
there’s one thing that grieves me and bears on my mind
that’s leaving my darling pretty Saro behind