How swiftly life has gone by,
like on the wings of a dove.
Just yesterday without a lie,
cradled in my mother’s arms.
Is life a mere blink of an eye,
or a very short summer’s day?
And why does it seem like a lie
to say life’s end is far away.
Was joy and pleasure I could feel,
and nature’s beauty I could see,
was all that in my lifetime real,
or was it all a mere memory?