The geese will reach their end one day and die,

More elegant than some who take this part.

Young lovers and whoever passes by

Believe themselves far from this noble art.

 

Yet feathers and the piles of ageing bones

Remind us of what one day lays in store:

Condolences, sincere but in cold tones,

Bowed heads which move in lines across the floor.

 

We should take time to think about the geese,

As they approach the closing of their term;

Our private span can only know decrease,

The earth above us will be packed and firm.