What time is it?
You have asked me, “What time is it?”
“It is the time of the middle of the day when butterflies fly above the yellow flowers.”
You have told me, “No. Please, tell me. What time is it?”
“It is the time of your yearning about many days of your past loneliness.”
“No, dear woman. Now it is the time of my happiness because I have touched time by your tender lips,” you answered the question yourself.