ContractI can’t even make a hole in a flat cake
because my heart is wild for a dark lass
she’s pierced my soul with a burning ache
and singes it like a cupping glass.
I can’t even make a hole in a flat cake.
O brother, what a fig-pecker! She hurls
flames from her eyes, worst than a cat;
too bad she is a widow; but young girls
in looks and grace cannot hold her hat.
O brother, what hocks this mare unfurls.
Her hair is dark and thick, by all admired,
and she has graceful breasts and lovely cheeks.
I stalk and chase her, but she sneaks away.
like a fox before the shot is fired.
I stalk and chase her, but she sneaks away.
Her husband, having too often gone
to Serrastretta, wasted away his life;
he left her a mill, and his grieving wife
has had to close, because there is no one
to work the hopper and let the water run.