In her youth she must wonder a heart’s thought,
next day, enraptured, she fell headfirst: clings!
For plunging in pains suitable for naught,
despite the remorseful songs her soul sings,
such will come unto her nevertheless,
pain and agony all in disarray.
For young love lays hold of what? Can you guess?
Like weather in winter extracts the ray,
from plants whom now wither, suffer daily.
The creatures wiser, know they are rival.
Like a bird: for example the Quail
None is more prime to them than survival.
Such as a bird she must make her way out,
prior downcast young love shades her in doubt.
