I have neither the time nor the talent to sing praises
to all that have enchanted me in my life on earth.
I am sure, that, someday, I will not have satiated
and happy my eyes anymore, nor ears, even less my heart.
We who share this land and these airs will be no more
than sparing remembrance for those who will remain.
In the short time that is given to me, I want to suck in fury
all the honey that I can get by on my lips, living the life
just like that poet of sweet memory, burning my candle
on both sides, my light frightening and pushing away
all scarecrows on duty.
Maybe in another life, unknown to me,
they give me other days,
who knows even eternity.
But they never will give me, however,
those scarlet red sunsets preceding soft nights,
where I had met lovely and unforgettable women,
sisters whom our race has refined in such a beauty
never seen anywhere or anytime else.