She was happy in her marriage
Although her husband was the very devil
The man had a bit of a bad temper
And she complained that he was never tender

For more than three years now
She has been receiving letters from a stranger
Letters full of poetry
That have brought her joy back

Who wrote her verses, tell me who it was
Who sent her flowers in the spring
Who, every ninth of November, as always without a card
Sent her a bouquet of violets

Sometimes she dreams and imagines
What the one who esteems her so much would be like
He would be a more faithful man with gray hair
An open smile and tenderness in his hands

She doesn't know who suffers in silence
Who could be her secret love
And she lives day by day
With the illusion of being loved

Who wrote her verses, tell me who it was
Who sent her flowers in the spring
Who, every ninth of November, as always without a card
Sent her a bouquet of violets

And every afternoon when her husband returns
Tired from work, he looks at her out of the corner of his eye
He says nothing because he knows everything
He knows she is happy, in any way

Because he is the one who writes her verses
He is her lover, her secret love
And she, who knows nothing
Looks at her husband and then falls silent

Who wrote you verses, tell me girl, who was it
Who sent you flowers in the spring
Who, every ninth of November, as always without a card
Sent you a bouquet of violets

Of violets
Of violets

VIEW ORIGINAL LYRICS