多顺命的样子！这就是我，

That resigned look! Here I am,

它说；五十九，

it says; fifty-nine,

秃顶，逃避着

balding, shirking the challenge

青春少女们的挑战。时间正在耗尽，

of the young girls. Time running out

而灵魂

now, and the soul

尚未完成。这颗心知道

unfinished. And the heart knows

这并非它摆姿势所描绘的

this is not the portrait

那幅肖像。保持双唇

it posed for. Keep the lips

紧闭；太多的失望

firm; too many disappointments

已经让这张嘴垂到

have turned the mouth down

角落里。没有手术

at the corners. There is no surgery

能够修复那些线条；残酷地

can mend those lines; cruelly

光线弹拨它们而心灵

the light fingers them and the mind

抽搐。所有的技巧，

winces. All that skill,

生命，就靠那雕刻的

life, on the carving

那弯曲的鼻孔，没有尽头

of the curved nostril and to no end

却令人作呕。匆忙的双眼

but disgust. The hurrying eyes

停下来，等待着一种超越的

pause, waiting for an outdistanced

喜悦追上它们。

gladness to overtake them.