Hoping they will not be forgotten,
They raise monuments while still alive
At least in the family, if not everywhere,
To outwit the pendulums of time.

To leave a deeper trace
And a useful relay
Was the aim of father and grandfather,
So it falls also to the son the poet.

They gather inheritances,
They grow over with riches
Not by bread alone,
Nor by golden palaces,
But also by the incorruptible word.