THE LITTLE ORPHAN
Isaac Taylor Headland translation
LIKE a little withered flower,
That is dying in the earth,
I am left alone at seven,
By her who gave me birth.
With my papa I was happy,
But I feared he'd take another,
And now my papa's married,
And I have a little brother.
And he eats good food,
While I eat poor,
And cry for my mother,
Whom I'll see no more.