Death eats up our life very fair;
The high or low he does not spare.
Time and again I warning here,
He will catch me; so I feel fear.
So far I have had children four;
I don’t wish to have any more.
My children may become worthy;
But is there nay certainty?
They may heighten their parents’ name;
They may become the cause of shame.
Nothing is in the hands of man;
Reverse can become what we plan.
But my works having rarity
Can give me immortality.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem