A Rose From Calverille
Take the last roses
From the unborn spring
Warm them between
Your virginal breasts
Until I will return
Holding them against
Your heart you should
Remember me as a bastard thief
Like an eagle flies in shame
Above the dried hunting
Ground I go
I will return
For you, sweet Calverille
One day
I promise you
One day
In the dying autumn
I should come for you
Even if I am dead.
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