IV

From common sense that looking up
To lofty aims has crushed a primrose in a garden,
Save me my Lord,
My blindness that takes away the chance
of finding the truth
Light up my Lord,
On the mean dullness that hides shamefully blush of fascination
keep watch with me Lord,
Don�t let me love with a possessive love My Lord,
and never become a dream for a friend � butterfly.