So silently, surreptitiously, and smoothly do you slide in with ocean tide to abide in abode of my soul, making hearth of my heart your home, again and once again, yet never to stay, to be held at bay, whatever I might say; so sing your song sung blue and true, old and ever-new. Have only some few become your lovers, who hover around your every word, hoping for your tender, titillating touch, not much but just enough.
Oh sweet Selene of Yaşam Ruh’u, what do you do in your smoothly silken, silver brush through the air, so fair and wild, what we cannot bear yet in which we share but for fleeting moments, enough to lift our care. Ought we beware of you, so true but wrapped in mystery, your history largely unknown because that you have not shown. We have but some small share in the treasure you bring, as you sing in the breeze with eloquent ease.
So do we seize the passing by and ne’er try to grasp your essence to keep in the fluorescence of our minds, which only dim in your presence. Yet we are more, not less, since your visitation; our incense rises to meet and greet your coming-movement in and through the veins of our very being to make new what was the aged pages of our lives. Ah! But do say when you will not stray but stay, we pray.
Oh, when will you stay, we pray?