Have you heard the sparrow song
carried by the autumn breeze?
Last night, the Lord sighed
and melodies drifted across
dewy fields. Music caught me there,
lying still in the meadow, surrounded by
edelweiss and lavender, and I gazed at the moon.
The moon craters are so round,
are they not? As round as your moonshine eyes.
I hope the Father’s wrath will not destroy me
before I have the chance to make love to you
in this evergreen field. The grass here is softer
than silk sheets, softer than satin cheeks,
softer than words of comfort from a lover
as I shed tears in the early morning.
I have made you my goddess,
my Aphrodite, my erotic muse.
Can I call this love?
Storm clouds hover on the horizon,
and I hope that the rain will be warm.
When the thunder rolls over me,
when my meadow is shaken by winds that howl,
I will remember your sacred words:
"Look to the moon, and I will be there."
Oh Lord, do not destroy me
before I can praise my Aphrodite.