My handsome fatal foe,
why are you gone so long?
I can’t stop my heart from trembling, missing you.
You put some sugar on the tip of my nose.
I cannot lick it,
though it smells so nice.

Thinner the day before yesterday,
even thinner yesterday,
the more I look, the thinner I become.
I sleep in the morning,
sleep in the evening,
too lazy to comb my hair.

Her peony is raised high and dewed with fragrance
but his legs are too short to reach,
so he uses a small table
like a man climbing up a cloud ladder
or an old monk beating the temple drum.