In
the valley of
deepest despair
Weakened, hurt,
but yet humble
There, I sensed the
scent of your hair
Among the thorns
and rubble I stumbled
|
At
the stroke of
final hours
My body and
soul begging to die
There, searching
along your thigh
Imbibing the nectar of
that most reviving flower
|
By
the gate, I
gracefully surrender
Misty thoughts,
thirsty lips
There, between
pillows so tender
Embracing the
statue of your
Bavarian hips
|
|