Travel to golden fields of straw,
gather up enough for my bed.
Pluck the downey snow-colored feathers of geese
which fly to sun before the winter's grey.
Scatter straw on the ground
in the corner of your heart,
the corner which is warmest,
before the fire which burns constantly with passion.
Seek the softest silks, cut out the pattern
for my place near the fire,
fill abundantly, cozy and plump with goose down
and lay it atop the straw.
Find the sweetest blankets,
to keep the warmth when you can not
leave them there for me,
and I will find them.
When you've readied the corner of your heart
nearest the fire,
when you've made a place for me,
I will be welcome
and I will come.