From my work I came home winded,
Placed my rasp inside the shed, -
Someone flutters through the window
From beside my spouse’s bed!

I, of course, attempt to clear it:
"Who’s this clod?"
"Oh, it was the Holy Spirit!"
She responds.

Oh, I’ll catch this flying spirit,
Oh, I’ll patch him for his visit!
For those spirits aren’t the same:
Holy? Then forget her name!

You can have a blueblood family,
And be noble to the bone,
But I’ll go to Christ, I tell you,
And I bet He favors none!

Mary, eager for a scandal,
Acts quite foolish, I should say.
Still rebukes me for her angel:
Thinks that I got in her way!

First, I tried to show my fondness,
Talked and joked.
To the wall she turned with coldness:
"No, we won’t!"

Through my teeth, I start to whisper,
Knowing well that it won’t please her:

"Though he’s ancient as a pillar,
A millennial times six,
But I bet, in every village,
He should have at least three chicks!"

Then I thought of an idea.
I’m creative with such things!
"When next week he comes to see you,
We, Maria, do like this:

I’ll pretend that I am leaving,
Like before.
You invite him, if he’s seeking,
Through our door.

Sing, when he will try to cuddle,
And I’ll run in with my cudgel!
For his psalm I’ll use my arm,
For his wing, a pick I’ll bring!"

Here, of course, he will surrender,
Mary’s honor’s not at risk.
For it seems that this offender
Ain’t no Angel but Old Nick!

Hoping that my shouts are scary,
I am dashing from my post.
Mary cries. "What’s happened, Mary?"
"He flew off, my relished Ghost!"

"How did he make out so quickly?
How on Earth?"
"Oh his wings, - she answers briskly -
I suppose.

He just sang a psalm to me,
Gently tickled with his wing..."

"You jest not with your own husband!
Oh, you’re wicked, wicked wife!"
I then swung my trusted club and...
Satan’s laughing at our strife!