Little brunch

Little birch so lonely was standingIn the field a curly one was standingLonely, lonely was standingLonely, lonely was standingNo one can cut up birch's branchesNo one can cut up its curly branchesLonely, lonely it's standingLonely, lonely it's standingI'll go into forest for a walkI'll cut up the branches from the stalkOnly three from the stalkOnly three from the stalkI will make from them three whistlesAnd go home through blooming thistlesAnd go home with the music of my whistlesAnd go home with the music of my whistlesLittle birch so lonely was standingIn the field a curly one was standingLonely, lonely was standingLonely, lonely was standingNo one can cut up birch's branchesNo one can cut up its curly branchesLonely, lonely it's standingLonely, lonely it's standing