You will never be lovelier than you are today; even if your hair is ashen gray.
Human lives are short and sweet, time always seeming to fleet.
Like a thunder strike, or a flash of light, The end always seems to be on sight
Like flowers born in spring's delight, Their beauty fades -- always finite.
The winter cold shall take them away. Like death comes for all, without delay.
Your time on earth is sure to cease; do not fear, but be at ease. For your beauty stems from this atleast.