You lingeringly watch in the mirror the reflection of your face
And proud of your beauty you don’t care to look at me.
Without rhyme or reason you expectantly look toward the forest.
Perhaps you think at your sight the birds will start singing.
You compare your lovely face with the moon
And you think you are the real moon and the other thing
longs for you.
When you go to bathe in the river you devise ways of delay,
And fancy the tide will come rushing to see you.
