This life, might have brought me pain.
For yesterday allieing with today, might make me bow tomorrow.
Alas this short passing shall pass,
and am glad there is a joy beyound this ware.
But I know not how withered my leaves are,
nor how pale my days.
And since fresh buds could fall off,
neither do you yours.
To that,
I will lay bare my chest and shave my hair low tomorrow
with a sigh, and the woods will take the imprints.
And if I leave before you,
don't forget to bid me farewell
with a Godly prayer.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem