all the full moon dirty because it has smudged its face with ink?

　　For every little trifle they blame you, my child. They are ready to find fault for nothing.

　　You tore your clothes while playing - is that why they call you untidy?

　　O, fie! What would they call an autumn morning that smiles through 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 they call you greedy?

　　O, fie! What then would they call us who love you?