A fragile glass of reflection,
I stand still watching it echo.
It shows a face being allegro.
He knows our presense very well,
That we have inevitable connection.

How could my face look?
Ohh! Such a innocent book.
Clean eyes, eye brows are high,
A gentle surface of beauty,
Is the heart express such purity?

Yet still, the mirror is a lie
How could you look inside?
On the truth hidden from our eye,
The gateway to the soul such divine,
Only to be lost in a hollow cry.