Endless things to do,
But her thoughts I cannot confine.
They are open and free,
Like a whirly wind, do not know any bound or reach.
Real but imagined,
Shining like a classy rim of a motored wagon.

I can compare her with any long and stout,
Anything beauty.
By seeing her, my heart starts to fly like a cloud.
Just me—he is impatient, but I am at rest,
Asking, "Do not go without me; stay in my chest.

For I don't have her.
If I lose you, how will I live?
Don't tell me somehow!
Until her soul accepts me as a slave,
You will not go away from my conclave."

Is it real or a dream?
Don't answer that.
Love is beautiful.
Be cautious—it will tear, making a sack.