V'la l'bon vent


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There’s a pond behind our house where three pretty ducks bathe. The king’s son, who is hunting with a big silver gun, aims for the black duck but kills the white one. O, son of the king, you are wicked to have killed my white duck. From beneath his wing he is losing his blood. From his eyes pour diamonds and from his beak, gold and silver. All his feathers are blowing away in the wind. Three ladies pick them up to make a bed for all the passerby. Chorus: Blow, good wind, my sweetheart is calling me, my sweetheart is awaiting me. [Translation: Lilianne Labbé]