Are you seventeen or eighteen?(1) Let me cherish you by all means. Thin or thick you display a triangle, and Large or small I hold you with one hand. The more it is hot the fresher you will submit, Not enough love at night, daytime will make it. Your cheeks are rose pink and give you grace, Lords and kings love you because of your face.
Summer breeze is sporadically blowing, Lying down the young girl slides into sleeping. Her bamboo comb loosely attached to her hair, Her pink bra below her waist dropped down fair. On these two Elysian mounds, the nectar is still remaining, In that one Fairy rivulet, the current seems to stop flowing. At such a view, the gentleman hesitated, Odd to leave, yet inconvenient if he stayed.