Blending bitter and sweet memories,
The fleeting moments pass quickly,
Fall into the measureless depth of past.
Inspire or despond when are recalled,
Flow too rapid like hissing water,
Of the silent brimming river,
That mixes opaque into clear blue,
To be poured into the gapped ocean,
With spacious belly never to be filled.
The moments in hands are precious,
And if coated with good deeds,
Make the past sweet, worth recalling,
But heinous deeds make them sooty sable,
Imprinting dark indelible stamps,
Only the bright eyes can read well,
The impressions on the countenance,
And ascetic or diabolical signs,
When one is old and close to death.