A time to hear, a time to call above,
A time for modesty, a time for fame,
A time for anger, or a time for love,
And time for love was that day when you came;
Assigned to each, a time, its very own,
When to rejoice, or next to be bereft,
While thrown sky high, all but to tumble down,
What woe, what grief, was that day when you left;
But comes the time, to wipe the return track,
And wise it is to leave the burning bridge,
And cast all hopes of ever coming back
To dale below upon reaching the ridge;
.....Though time, they say, proceeds at cyclic rate,
..... What is destined will always be as Fate.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem