The stars are bright over the farms..
I wish to tie your legs and arms
The clouds of white are hiding mills
I wish to glide along the hills
I wish to brake into the grave
That wouldn’t be a fake
And I’ll be brave…
The sky is blue – to hob and nob
To sip the dew – the greatest job
Delicious drops I’ll touch and sniff
And tender crops – desired – will leave
This hall of grace and I shall gaze at silky lace…
And now we’ve come..
To final ending
Of verse of couse
That I am sending.