Hermeat, wing-footed, quick on the street,
But quicker still when he dives between sheets.
Messenger god? More like messenger rod,
Delivering packages women applaud.

He steals not just cattle, but hearts in the night,
Then slips out at dawn, gone fast as a kite.
A trickster, a flirt, with a grin full of sin,
“Special delivery — I’m coming in.”

No armor, no spear, no thunderous fuss,
Just sandals, a smile, and a whole lot of us.
While mortals make prayers, he’s chasing the thighs,
For Hermeat brings pleasure… not just the replies.

So when you see feathers and hear laughter that swirls,
Know Hermeat is busy—delivering girls.