I saw her near a laurel tree, she was tending her white sheep
When I asked where her fresh skin came from, she told me said
It's rolling in the dew that makes shepherdesses pretty
But when I said that with her I would like to roll in it too
She told me
She told me to go and whistle up there on the hill
To wait for her with a little bouquet of rose hips
J I picked flowers and whistled as much as I could
I waited and waited, she never came
At the village fair a day I sighed to her
That I would like to be an apple hanging from an apple tree
And that every time she passes by she comes and bites me inside
But she was passing by and while showing me her pretty teeth
She told me
She told me to go and whistle up there on the hill
To wait for her with a small bouquet of rose hips
I picked some flowers and I whistled as much as I could
I waited, waited, she wasn't never came

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