Sex: The root of life, a few know it very well,
Sex: The vital force to produce the same print,
Your beauty is unused, O Lady! I call it a hell,
If you use your beauty, I call it a beauty mint,
O Lady! You jealous of your being, not leave,
Your glass behind, after you, your cute face,
Shines on this earth your soul will not heave,
A sigh of sorrow, leave behind a beauty race
Your civilized tongue, unkind to you, why?
You, think, think O Rose, your unused beauty,
Will inter in the grave with your sweet lie,
My fingers praise you it is my moral duty,
When your beauty inters with you in the grave,
When people forget you, my verses you, save.