Time importunes us all to death;
Faces wrinkle, years are theft,
Taking loves and talents all-
We are memory's faded thrall.
We were too young to age, and yet
To the graveyard we must get,
To say goodbye to near and dear,
Our words full of fruitless cheer.
There is no life except death come;
The other side of living's hum,
Quietness at the end of motion,
Eyes that close in stilled devotion.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
So real, so human, so true.