At the falling of a needle,
I try not to think of you,
As the mem’ries come to wheedle,
Fond and gentle through and through.
I know well that this is folly,
Not to think of you is fudge;
You, my reason to be jolly,
Make me laugh until I trudge.
Sometimes I can not help thinking
That you do not think of me.
Then my mood will soon start sinking,
Unbeknownst to you, I flee.
I just wish to make you happy,
My heart beats above all pride,
If you, little bird, feel flappy,
I shall have to step aside.