The memory of your scent so familiar and pleasing,
Like a pale mist lies between me and these lines.
And the north wind washing through this tent,
Sets the cold canvas walls to shiver,
While my mind plays back your delicate quiver,
As my tongue slipped between your glistening lips.
My nerves sting at the spatters of rain on the fabric,
And I am uneasy with the howling of the wild dogs
outside in the night.
In the cold, devoid of light,

Where are you my love?
Why have you thrown my devotion away?