The face of life — in the mirror of death,
In long life you understand the finale better.
In memory the Images are not quite erased,
You will even manage to preserve something.

He set himself to smolder under the sky a long time,
Yet while still young
They ask about the will,
Was he born for such happiness?
As if they exist, but do not know what for.

At the beginning you appear to realize the end,
At the finish to remember the start.
To tell the darkness of the light —
That is WHAT for.
To learn to tell good from evil,
Not to sadden, but to gladden.