Mère tissant un tapis près d’une fenêtre paisible au bord de la rivière

Magical tales A river flows under the window, I stood hidden in the middle of the room, Mom is weaving a new rug, the song is also entwined in it. Mom is weaving a new rug, the song is also entwined in it. She scooped up glades from the forests, descended along the paths, lit, entwined them with her kind fingers and the meadow rug becomes. Tangle them with her kind fingers and the meadow rug becomes. She scooped up the sky, scooped up, all the shining stars above the camp, put the whole sky in it and the heavenly rug becomes. Put the whole sky in it and the heavenly rug becomes. And when spring comes early over our great land, I know, I know that she has woven mom's colorful rugs. I know, I know that she has woven mom's colorful rugs.