Where are You Coming From Daughter?

On Friday I was in the Elder Hall, sitting next to my mum, who had a dreadful cold. We were waiting for the Lunch Hour Concert to begin. We'd sat at the end of a row in case my mum had a coughing fit, which was quite likely. She rummaged in her bag for a sweet.

Would you like a Butter Menthol? she asked me. I said, Err..... yes thank you, I would.

That could be a song.

Would you like a Butter Menthol ? she asked me.
I said, Err.... yes thank you, I would.
But then I felt suddenly certain
Her cold germs would do me no good.
Butter Menthols are not wrapped up these days
And ones she had touched were inside
If I was unlucky and ate one
It might be the reason I died.
Cough cough.....

How very silly. I apologise wholeheartedly for that. Now to continue.....

The concert was Rosalind Martin, singing songs of Chopin and Schumann, in a lacy latte dress.
Most of the songs were about longing, and as a consequence were quite sad. But my favorite was the Lithuanian Song: ( of course it was in Lithuanian )

Very early one morning, the sun was rising,
Near the glass window Mother was sitting;
Where, she asks, are you coming from my daughter?
Where did you get your wreath all wet?

The daughter replies that it's wet because she had to get up early to fetch water, but Mother isn't having any of it, and accuses her daughter of running off into a field to chat with a boy.

It's true, it's true, Mother, truth I'd rather say-
My sweetheart I spotted in the field;
We only spent a few minutes talking,
And in that time, dew settled on my wreath.

You can see why I liked it.