I remember the Greek poet once sang:
I once wondered how Theo Cretors sang.
Year after year, that moment is sincere hope?
Sweet years, dear and longing years?
Why don't you come down and everyone bring a present?
Who each appeared in the kind hand?
Give it to the world, young and old. ?
Bring a gift for mortals, young and old?
When I think so, I sigh the poet's ancient tune.
When I meditate in his ancient language.
The illusion gradually revealed through my tears,
Through my tears, I gradually see?
I see, those happy years, sad years-
Sweet, sad years, melancholy years?
My own years, connecting one shadow after another?
Who takes turns throwing away those my own lives?
Pass me by. Then, I realized?
A shadow hangs over me. I understood right away.
(I cried) There is a mysterious shadow behind me?
So crying, how does a mysterious shape move?
It was moving, and it grabbed my hair.
Behind me, pulling my hair backwards; ?
Pull back and shout (I'm just struggling):
When I struggled hard, a voice dominated me.
"Who caught you this time? Guess! " "Death," I replied. ?
"Guess who is holding you now? -"death." I said. But, where?
Listen, the silvery echo: "not death, but love!" " " ?
The silver answer rang,-"Not death, but love. '