The weary sun sinks low in evening's fire,
And paints the sky with thoughts of fading gold;
He walks his path, obedient to time's desire,
And leaves the day to darkness calm and cold.
Thus hours proceed with steady, silent feet,
They take our youth, yet grant us knowing eyes;
What once seemed firm must bow before defeat,
For nothing born beneath the sun defies.
So too does man ascend with hopeful breath,
In strength, in pride, in dreams that brightly shine;
Yet age reminds him of the truth of death,
That mortal light must yield to grand design.
Let wisdom grow where endings softly start:
The setting sun still warms the thoughtful heart. By Rajendra Prasad Meena Jaipur India
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem