Seven Children’s Songs

drawings by Heather Lowe

Silly song

Mommy.

I want to be made of silver.

Son,

you’ll be very cold.

Mommy.

I want to be made of water.

Son,

you'll be very cold.

Mommy.

Embroider me on your pillow.

That yes!

This very moment!

Conch

A conch they’ve brought me.

Inside it sings

a map-ocean.

My heart

with water fills

and fishes small

of shade and silver.

A conch they’ve brought me.

Sung song

In gray,

the bird Gryphon

was covered in gray.

And Kikiriki as a girl

lost her shape

there and her pallor.

To enter gray

I painted myself gray.

And how I sparkled

in gray!

Landscape

The mistaken afternoon

puts on cold.

Behind the windowpanes

all the children, blurry,

into birds change

a yellowish tree.

The afternoon stretches

along the river.

And an apple blush

on the little roofs quivers.

The lizard is crying

The lizard is crying.

The she-lizard is crying.

The lizard and the she-lizard

with little white aprons.

They have lost without wanting to

their marriage ring.

Ah, their little ring of lead,

ah, their leaden little ring!

A big sky without people

rides their globe like birds.

The sun, round captain,

wears a satin waistcoat.

Look how old they are!

How old the lizards are!

Ah how they cry and cry,

ah, ah, how they are crying!

Little Sevillian song

It was dawn

in the orange grove.

Little golden bees

sought the honey trove.

Where will the

honey be?

In the blue flower,

Isabel.

In the flower

of the rosemary-dell.

(Gold little chair

for the Moor.

Chair of tinsel

for his Mrs.)

It was dawn

in the orange grove.

Chinese song in Europe

The young lady

with a fan’s shiver,

makes for the bridge

on the cool river.

The gentlemen

in their tails,

look at the bridge

with no rails.

The young lady

with shivery fan

and frills

is looking for a man.

The gentlemen

are married,

to tall blondes

with language pallid.

Crickets are singing

in the East.

(The young lady,

makes for the green.)

Crickets are singing

the flowers beneath.

(The gentlemen,

make for the North.)

Federico García Lorca