Your troubles began long before you were born;
it's not your fault. You could boast, if you would,
of walking towards the light.

When young you think you can fly. You think
you can live forever. You thrill to think
you will escape a forest of razor-sharp thorns
and fall into the open arms of Love.

So suddenly old, you do reach the heights-
relentless mountaineering just a way of life.
From here you can see it's not you 
who will live forever but Love 
and it's you who must throw you arms wide
for Love will rush to any heart.

Troubles are bound to outlast your strain;
it's not your fault. You could smile, if you would,
at living at all.