So poetry it is - to scream at the stars but affection beckons,
The mistress lay her head upon my lap and I muse no more,
The heavens dream of such blissful delight,
Bring back the impossibility of love,
For it should be for the father,
Our god,
But my lap cried out to the heavens,
I shan't move a muscle in my body,
Bid she might move away,
And for you dear angels to have one more dialogue with me...