Dearest Cecilia, thou may continue To torment my forlorn and aching heart, On every weekday making wounds anew For another two months ere we all part. Winged archer's blind arrows pierced me athwart; At every sight of thee, in me thy love will renew, Though for thy gold complexion I might be dirt That thou would quite surely like to eschew. I doubt not thou art heavenly stardust, But for thee my feelings thwart I must Till I bid adieu. Till then I'll try to find Solace and comfort in my restless mind By listening to Bosson's discography; By then I know not the law of Murphy.