Some walking through the morning dew
Leave behind footsteps noticed by a few.
The imprints are quickly gone
And all that remains is not etched on stone,
But rather the mental image of the time
When man strode forth, in time sublime.
Day is beautiful
Night sublime,
Life is beautiful
Death sublime.
(Some would say the reverse is true
But it depends upon how it is you view
Death is the end for some
But to others the beginning; life eternal has begun.)
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This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem