Sitting under an olive tree,
Watching his flock feeding.
Took out his flute
and started his tune.
“Who’s that beautiful girl?
Are you my fantasy?
Or some kind of mystery!”
“Ney”, replied she,
“Come and touch my hair
Ghalia is my name.”
Her plaited hair is real
And her brown eyes full of grief.
“What brought you here?
Tell me, you Ghalia!”
“I walked the tracks
and stinging paths
“I have my sheep to herd
Whilst you’re light as a bird.
“Look, a wolf is near the flock
I have to climb up the rock”.
“Run, my dear, run
I 'll wait here till you return.”
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