Season of winter
Hopes on worldly life
Happiness every one wants
But happiness ever distant.
Hopes in winter
The good climate to enjoy
But enjoyment is not epicurean
Life is not mere epicure
Life is transient
Every day is a spent day
Minus the day from calendar
ephialtes in every night
The death which hounds ever.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem