How I wish
To let you sway
Through the red mountain!
An image of yours is not enough,
To get inspired!
And many doves sing
An ancient praise,
Whereas the roses blossom,
To get you crowned!
How I wish,
Calling my dark caress,
To invite you,
To the last banquet!
No more desires will occur,
Before the Great Throne,
And Sensuality will be a psalmist when,
She meets Love;
The beginning of the end is
A promise,
To be someone new,
In which,
Nails and ashes are gotten rid of;
However,
The pleasure will be transformed
In a given when,
Our eyes are willing
To make a tear dance.