Here I am a wandering style
And you the bee waggling yonder
There are the harmattan winds a blowing
The cool breezes of dusk fading
And the turmoil of noon a braising
Do you know the health the hearth brings close my brows?
Whose embroideries yearn too bountiful
But there aren’t the need being coy or shy
What health will there thrive in you
While the nuisance whither my strength?
Sense the under-crudeness of my appeal.
You yonder lie too close to the
Tranquillity of fattening your being
But decide the [sinning] that buoys
For you or for me.