It's not narcissism, it's thinking—
How did I become mature?
It's not the wind. I'm afraid it's moldy.
It's not rain. I'm afraid it has withered in the ravine.
It's not light, I'm afraid it's already gray,
It's not hot yet. I'm afraid it's gaunt and ugly.
Thanks to the wind and rain, it gave me mature bones and muscles.
Thanks to the sunshine, I am mature and handsome.