Who says that Keats could have writ even more,
If he were given longer lease of life?
No one can say when we exit Earth’s door;
Our performance improves with added strife.
For, what is predestined, we do not know;
We function freely in the time given;
To sufferings, our achievements, we owe
And reach a state of life Will-power driven.
Yet, time is precious, we must hurry up;
The thief called death may come at any time,
When we must leave, deserting our life’s cup;
The lucky few had made their lives sublime.
Great things men do when Heaven gives the ‘go, ’
Big dreams get shattered if the Lord says ‘no.’
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem