How fragile is our love and labor,
It flickers like a wind-whipped flame;
How fast our wick does burn and taper,
Ending life in smoke-like fame;
Plant perennials here in my soil,
Knowing Fate's inconstancy;
That from my grave for all your toil
I'll over-grow your memory.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
How fast our wick does burn and taper, Ending life in smoke-like fame astounding imagery!