The minister was appalled, but still, he had some thoughts unstrung.

Not letting the opportunity slip, he said for his thoughts:

"And what of love, Skalta? How do you describe that? How do you know, to whom you belong?"

For his own life was thrown away, his life ruined, for the "nobler" lots.

"Of love! Ah, Sire! No words, no sentences, and no scrolls can be deemed sufficing enough,

To describe this unestranged harmony, one to be relished even by the deaf.

Oh that tingle and oh the anguish, of seeing somefolk, watching them veer away

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For the sentiments of nature, encapsulating, making the lame sway."

"How to describe love Sire! The sweet mystery of which the nobles never sang,

Why did the mother mongoose throw herself in grave danger, embraced the serpent's venomous fangs?

Why did the dove dove into the blazing flame, right after its mate?

Why did the commander order his troops back in, and stood alone forth the gates?

Why do the moth fly into the fire, knowing fully well it's their demise?

Why does the captain sink with his ship, locked in the cabin with no last goodbyes?"

"What's that feeling Sire, when the wind abruptly stops?

When the leaves stop rumbling the birds mid-air halt?

When the time itself rests, to glance at you with awe,

To watch you flush and flatter your gaze alike to a doe?"

"When the butterflies of the valley seem to flutter inside of you,

When each breath you take, feels fresh as morning dew,

When your eyes contents for you didn't let the moment go amiss,

When your ears filter all the bedlam in the world, just so that one sound doesn't go amiss?"