Merry, merry, merrylins,
Girly, girlish, girliwins.
How can I forget you?
In my heart you’ve stuck your pins.

Think not that I am angry.
I pine for you. I’m lonely.
No front-line invalid, I,
Thrice love-struck only.

Come visit Vanechka,
You Manyas, you Manelins.
Come out and court the wind
Like hardy dandelions.

Friend of mine, a sculptor,
Strong-armed and tender, ah!
He brought me back from England
A foam-wool, plastic bra.

Here fashions have been trailing,
Compared to our beloved Perth,
Where the latest couture hit
Is a Pantagruelian girth.

Your habits I know not,
But in Denmark, so I’m told,
A gallant rendez-vous or two,
And to the altar you are towed.

How it’s with you I know not,
But in our dear old France
Ten times one can be married
With little fuss or dance.

Reverse the oars, stout fellows,
Before we hit the shore.
No need to get up early
To celebrate some more.

As fresh and spotless as a needle,
Olya, Olka, Olyechka,
Bring to one who’s feeble
Enough for half a century.

On the road, as he was limping,
The grandpa sought himself a bride.
All wrongly thought: he’s joking.
He took no one for a ride.

My sweet one hit the bottle,
He emptied it quite nicely,
Took no chances, in view of
The coming energy crisis.

Don’t howl, don’t whine, don’t sneer
Over a shortage or petroleum.
We have much more to fear
From an alcohol offensive.

I look - and see one family,
On such a Sunday fete.
All are sons with one another,
Even kinsfolk, linked by fate.