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.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem