Tread through the woods,
where in earnest a heart thumps,
meddling with patience,
endangering the virtuous solitude,
eagerly awaiting answers,
desirous to know veiled stories,
caged by the bars of understanding.
Tread through the woods,
which solicit your invasion,
conquered by the singular spirit,
forgotten birds laying motionless,
sighing leaves always moist,
breathing the welcome song.
Often the gushing winds,
a mere pretension of you,
tickle the sleeping ardor,
and wobble the armor in command.
In the parched space,
despite the resolution,
if you ever wish to tread,
enter with conviction,
and you will be received with jubilation.
Hither you come,
in a beautiful dream though,
it can only be a dream.
