Oh servant of Hathor,

A calling you say,

To spread pleasure and joy,

Admirable indeed,

And much needed,

In this place,

This desert,

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Poor of passion,

And dulled by work,

I praise it,

Where you stand,

Amongst it all,

Like a hell flower,

Blooming,

No matter where you're planted,

I praise it,

Its potential,

If ever kissed,

Blessed by the divine,

Would be a glory to all,

A beacon of greatness,

Where will it land,

Where will it go,

This calling?

Will it find shelter?

A greenhouse for its beauty?

Or will it sustain itself,

In the depths of the valley,

On ash and sand,

Living on moisture,

My hope,

Is that it's picked up,

Wherever it may be,

My hope,

You allow yourself,

Your own calling,

Pleasure and joy...