I can find no beauty in my face;
There is no sun in my eyes
Nor morning song in my cheeks,
The swell of my lips is lacking.
There is no autumn with which I am comparable
Nor spring bloom that resembles the limp stalks I call my body.
Yet I do not resent the sparkling founts of summer or the youthful blushes of earth;
For though I am a frozen excess
My mind revels in gardens.