My hide becomes old,
And I fly with my grey hair,
Time has aged,
Well, I have too,
My balcony so bright,
I rest in the sun,
To see the shadow,
That hovers in my yard,
Picking flowers in a bouquet,
Her hair so black,
Yes, it is a she,
The frock she sails in,
Waves with the breeze,
I envy...