Била мене мати
Березовим прутом,
Щоби я не стояла
З молодим рекрутом.
А я собі стояла,
Аж кури запіли.
На двері воду лляла,
Щоби не рипіли.
На двері воду лляла,
На пальцях ходила,
Щоб мати не почула,
Щоби не сварила.
А мати не спала,
Усе чисто чула,
Та мене не сварила –
Сама така була.
She was my mother
Birch rod,
That I would not stand
With a young recruit.
And I stood to myself,
The chickens were already washed.
Water was pouring on the door,
To not creak.
Water was pouring on the door,
She walked on her toes,
To prevent my mother from hearing,
In order not to boil.
And my mother was awake
I heard everything perfectly,
But I did not quarrel -
It was like that.
