Wait for him, I watch for a very long time.
I do not tire of the endless waiting.
And from the crowded city, I see a man now
A tiny little speck. Oh
It’s making its way up the hill now
Can it be? Can it be?
And when he’s here, I wonder
What he’ll say, what he’ll say
He will call, Butterfly, called from a distance
And I’ll refuse to answer
And I’m staying in hiding

A bit for teasing
And a bit so I don’t die From our reunion
And he will call out in concern
Call out my name, call out my name. Oh!
“Piccina, my little blossom,
My lemon-scented flower,”
The nicknames he used, when he came to see me
This will all come to be
I can promise
Keep your fears far from me
My faith makes me fearless. I wait!

One day we will witness
A smoke plume in the distance
Far away on the blue horizon
And then, a ship upon the ocean
And the ship is painted white
It sails into the harbor
The salute booms, cannons roar
He’s returned once more
I don’t go to meet him…Not I,
I wait on the hill, watching for him.