The pleasant snoring of the beloved,
Everything he doesn’t do is a masterpiece,
They’ve dragged the drunk one home —
Here he is in bed, my lion.

I’ll take off his shoes and undress him,
Wipe his dirty body,
I long for him with my soul,
I’ll cover him with kisses, hold him.

People don’t understand:
“And why drag such a one around?”
I can do nothing with myself —
I love him, that’s all.

(The wife refuses to rate this intrigue)