Lifting that basket from your head
(basket that brimmed with strawberries once)
you're just a bit too nonchalant
O nymph, who might be more well-bred.

Raking the ashes of strawberries
has drawn the curtain from the bed
where the stream of bygone days flowed by
until it suddenly ran dry.

Nymph whose wild thighs tamed me,
Who clasped me like a statue,
I raced to you like waves that crash
and drown when they reach the bottom.

(All who come to drink, my doe,
on their knees before you first must go).

Schoolgirlish nymph of the woods
inviting me in for a snack
so that I might leisurely
nibble your wild strawberries,
entreat the brambles of these woods
to lift up your jet-black apron.

The fire crackles once more:
you've proved yourself a real girlscout;
down on my knees, I stoke your flame
and drink at the stream where once I came.