Let this lush breeze be the death of me now,
caressing my weary flesh with fervent grace,
lashing o’er my form with her orbital tongue.
How sweetly she mollifies my restless mind,
let this be my gentle wind o’er many years,
‘twould but carry me, e’er soft, to my grave.
This mistral breeze of virgin maiden wind,
she calls softly to my ear, pleading me on,
that I join her sojourn of this Autumn day.
Let mistral breeze e’er be good-natured too,
ripple away this supressed and harried veil,
this construct of sorrow adhered to so long.
Awaken my soul, mistral breeze, to dance,
for now am I struck wanton of your breath,
ne’er to find respite in squalls less than thee.