Where are those tears in your eyes, my child? How horrid of them to be always scolding you for nothing! You have stained your fingers and face with ink while writing-is that why they call you dirty? O, fie!
Would they dare to call the full moon dirty becauseit has smudged its face with ink? For every little trifle they blame you, my child.
They areready to find fault for nothing. You tore your clothes while playing-is that why they call youuntidy? O, fie!
What would they call an autumn morning that smilesthrough its ragged clouds? Take no heed of what they say to you, my child. They make a long list of your misdeeds. Everybody knows how you love sweet things-is that why theycall you greedy? O, fie!
What then would they call us who love you?
