Panteon, pantegan, panta rhei
The moments of life flow on
And never return, do they
Unaware of immanuel Kant's categorical imperative
The well-armed soldiers of the vanguard
One very determined with halberd held hard
Questions Duonna Lupa with little pot held in her arm
The big pot on the fire perhaps cooking cassoulet
Her wary looks as she thinks up what to say
The cat by the hatchet slinks away
The poor pig awaiting slaughter
Held by ears and legs
One man in a dagger-at-the-ready pose
The other strangely holding his under his nose
The barrel of wine and the dead goose
Panteon, pantegan, panta rhei
The moments of life flow on
And never return, do they
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I would like to translate this poem