My womens eyes resemble nothing of the sun; coral is far more red than her lips are. If snow is white, then why are her breasts grayish brown; and if hairs are wires, then black wires grow from her hair.
I love you, ugly
I have seen roses stitched in cloth, both red and white; but her cheeks are not rosy; and I have more delight smelling perfumes than smelling the breath of my women which reeks.
I love to listen to her voice but music has a far more pleasing sound; and I have never seen a goddess walk away; because when my women walks she does not pick up her feet.
And yet heaven knows she is one of a kind; as she is not comparable.