Dearest Cecilia, you 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 you, in me your love will renew,
Though for your gold complexion I might be dirt
That you would quite surely like to eschew.
I doubt not you are heavenly stardust,
But for you 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.