The image beautiful you see in a shining mirror,
But if you don't haste to replicate,
Then you'll offend your nature features,
And will deprive a woman of your grace.
What mortal woman could escape the pleasure
To give you her virginity in gain
To find the immortality - a true treasure?
Or you love more yourself in your disdain?
In mother's eyes - you are a reflection
Of old, and gone, the april days of youth,
In your old age - you'll find the consolation
In windows, which are the same and true.
But you will die in limits of your fate,
When you neglect the need to replicate.