​Sparrow, hopping about her clothes, her skin, held
close, her favourite adornment, look at you! You
hop out,  onto an outstretched finger, coaxed and
teased, provoked into pecking at her, as the 
burning feelings provoked in me flare up and  
haven’t any release – no bird to play with,
no distraction from love’s sharp pain for me, from  
this impossible feeling...Oh, I wish that
I could tease you the way that she does, and so
being pecked at and injured, find some solace!
 
Here is to a defeat to you, bird, welcome
as the lovely distraction Atalanta
seized at, losing the race she had to lose, to win...