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Little birch so lonely was standing

In the field a curly one was standing

Lonely, lonely was standing

Lonely, lonely was standing

No one can cut up birch's branches

No one can cut up its curly branches

Lonely, lonely it's standing

Lonely, lonely it's standing

I'll go into forest for a walk

I'll cut up the branches from the stalk

Only three from the stalk

Only three from the stalk

I will make from them three whistles

And go home through blooming thistles

And go home with the music of my whistles

And go home with the music of my whistles

Little birch so lonely was standing

In the field a curly one was standing

Lonely, lonely was standing

Lonely, lonely was standing

No one can cut up birch's branches

No one can cut up its curly branches

Lonely, lonely it's standing

Lonely, lonely it's standing