The young poet L. wrote:

What a wonderful feeling to be with you,

Though you are never here,

Though you will never come,

Though you will never kiss.

His uncle M., also a poet, rectified it:

What a wonderful feeling to be with you,

Though you fall asleep in the arms of a stranger.

What a wonderful feeling to be with you,

Though you cheat on me each morning.

Their experienced domestic, old Janne,

Then spoke the following way:

If there is no object of desire in the physical sense,

There’s no use bothering with poems.

What a wonderful feeling to be able to kick somebody in the ass.