When you get old, your hair turns white, and you become sleepy
Dozing by the fire, please take down this poem
Read slowly, recalling the softness of your eyes in the past
Recalling their former heavy shadows
How many people love you when you are young and happy
I admire your beauty, pretense and sincerity
Only one person loves your pilgrim soul
Love the painful wrinkles on your aging face
Lowering his head, beside the glowing stove
Telling the disappearance of love quietly and sadly
On the mountains overhead it paced slowly
A face hidden among a group of stars