And behind the forest sings that nothing is the way you think
and try as you might make love to one you do not love gives
a feeling of lost time, of a useless pursuit of finding happiness in
momentarily lust that leaves nothing but melancholy behind.
The coir of the forest knew this, nymphs sang about it warning
you, cheap pleasure too dear for your soul as summer dust on
asphalt road, bleak as the word of love uttered by a floozy in
a nightclub of gaudy gastropods and dancing long tailed rodents.
Dew on straw and deeper into the woodland walk to find Dryads
or best of all Meliae, the sweetest aroma, but her kisses sting your
lips if she´s upset with your craving for more. Be careful of Lempo,
the Finnish archer god, he is capricious and likes honey too.
On a stone she sits, the siren of deep tarns, her smile is deadly close
your eyes and run for your life, her former suitors sleep in silt.
