The sun slips low, its gold already thin,
Like laughter worn by years it cannot stay;
Young hours glow, then quietly give in
To shadows learning how to lengthen day.
The sky remembers fire it once wore,
Now softened hues confess what time has done;
So youth departs as sunsets do—no roar,
Just beauty fading when its course is run.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem