I am not comparable with roses nor with wine
My cheeks do not flower with autumn-less divine
My mane of locks is not of gold nor of the finest silk
I don’t have lips of coral nor velvet skin of milk
You compare me to the impossible and plague me as bizarre
I am not of fresh breeze, but rather smoke from a cigar
You must not compare the wonders of nature to the maid
For the sky may last forever, but I will always fade