Astute never 

Becomes my dream, 

Shrewd never 

Becomes its action,

But profound 

Becomes its mischief 

To coax me to touch 

Your svelte figure 

To plunder all the love 

To my heart's content.

As the morning sun 

Azures the village,

It leaves 

The city of your contour 

And brings me back 

From the land of nod.