In the scheme of life, as the years go by,
For what great purpose before we die?
In the eyes of God, as we bow our head,
Thus ponder the words that often were said—
Whispered so gently, so softly and low,
For too short a time, now away I must go
Off to the woodland and back to the glen—
A warm winter's fire and home once again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem