This life under the sun is but a dream,
And so we need to live each precious day,
Without fearing too much of what may be.
For when we finally become old and grey,
Not to have lived fully will seem such a waste.
But to pleasantly recall rich memories:
A thousand treasures; revealed in golden days,
Will keep our ageing hearts: young, warm and free.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem