When you get old, your hair turns white, and you feel sleepy,
Dozing by the fire, please take down this hymn,
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, falsely or sincerely,
There is only one who loves your pilgrim soul,
Love the painful wrinkles on your aging face;
Lowering his head, beside the glowing red stove,
Telling the loss of love softly and sadly,
On the mountain above it walked slowly,
A face hidden among a group of stars.
Conception: