I used to be a little child

and the strings around my neck, they too were little.

Eyes were harbors,

My steps a wave

and my words a song

heaven could hear, loved to hear.

After a while, my beloved grew up,

migrated,

rose to my eyelids, shore after shore,

to my innermost self.

I then took her in.

My garden had no fence,

I raised one,

my house was made of reeds, had but one room,

Il became a house of stone, a house of many rooms.

Every night, I used to waken morning,

morning now awakes me.

But what care I, if my beloved loves me!

She confides in me, in my, in my body.

She rests her hand upon me,

silent as candle flame.

Autumn has come.

The week of seasons turned

a thousand and one turns,

and the road is empty.

I am alone, all companions gone.

Lord, when you call me back to you,

let me keep my beloved, only her,

so that my words become a song

heaven ca hear,

sill love to hear.