Agniya Barto
The Bullfinch

There's a bird-shop in our street
Which is always full of song.
Pigeons coo, canaries warble,
Finches whistle all day long.

In that bird-shop, in our street,
Many lovely birds they keep;
But I saw a certain bullfinch
That has robbed me of my sleep.

Now, his little breast was scarlet,
And his wings a shiny grey;
Not for even half a minute
Could I tear my eyes away.

And because of this same bullfinch,
I cried loud — when Mummy heard.
I was sure, she would take pity
And would let me have the bird.

But my Mummy doesn’t answer —
It’s a habit, I suppose,
When I ask about the bullfinch,
She begins about my clothes:

That I tore my shirt while fighting,
That my shoes are soaking wet,
That for these and other reasons,
I can’t have a bullfinch yet.

So I dogged my Mummy’s footsteps,
Lay in ambush by the door,
And at dinner-time, on purpose,
Spoke about the bird once more.

If she wished, I wore galoshes,
Even though the streets were dry.
And I was so good, in general,
That you’d think I wasn’t I.

With Papa I hardly argued,
And on doors I didn’t swing.
Everybody I kept thanking
For each single, little thing.

Oh, how Mummy was astonished!
“Tell me, dear, are you all right?
This must be the second Sunday
That you haven’t had a fight!”

And I sadly hung my head.
“I am being good,” I said.

That I didn’t try for nothing,
I am sure you must have heard.
"It's a wonder!” said my Mummy,
And she went and bought the bird.
When she brought it home to me,
I just sang and danced with glee;

And I called to all the neighbours:
“I’ve a real live bullfinch, see!”

I will love my little bullfinch,
He will sing from mom till night.
Now, perhaps, it will not matter,
If I have another fight?

Translated by Eugene Felgenhauer