That the mere brush of a butterfly turns your head
The most fleeting of caresses turns your course,
And your constant weakness of will
Remains enforce.
Such thinking, thinking
Behind your fair brow
The flux of desire and illogic;
Setting aside your crown.
What sweet tortures you merit,
And stress upon my being
Misadventure and folly,
Deception unseemly.
But, I am beast in woman form
Not one to bow lightly
For in this tender heart resides a seed pearl
Of the rarest sort.
A gift, a treasure;
My priceless measure.
One can never guard oneself too carefully.
I will cleanse my sins in Diana’s pure water
I will be baptized in the blazing truth of the sun.
My heart and soul to guard,
My virtue to keep.
I dare’nt trust my heart and soul to thee.
