Paradise is ever at our fingertips,

Dependent only upon our observation —

She surrenders her veil for the perfect suitor —

Those who can behold

Her splendor.

The Moon does not reveal herself

Without the white light of Son —

Oh, great Mother,

I lay against your bosom,

When I recline in the grass —

You whisper sweet nothings to me,

When I hear the birds chirping merrily —

What a gift it is to walk upon you,

Great Goddess of all creation

Donning a crown of flowers,

I kneel to the queen —

Your presence is most sublime

Forever grateful am I