Tell me, o Canada, why I'm not your son,
Why I wasn't born in your village or a city.
And since my childhood Russian's been my mother tongue...
I love this language anyway and mustn't pity.
Once I came here with the hope not to leave,
I was accepted pretty well and nicely treated...
You are so merciful and kindly just forgive
If I was false, if I was wrong and if I cheated.
Another Christmas passed, another Mother's Day,
And I received from your shore another letter...
And I don't know why I'm still so far away-
I have not found any place which could be better...
I'm not a fraud, not a killer, not a thief,
And if you take me back, I hope, you will know
That though it's getting yellow, my old maple leaf,
It is still waving on a tree which still can grow.
