The stars above will soon burn out and die
The blooming flowers wilt to blackened stalks
The clouds will soon blot out the azure sky
The mighty deer drop dead, a feast for hawks

The sunset will give way to dark of night
The vigour of youth fades away with age
Our optimism malform into spite
Joy and love become bitterness and rage

Benign ends justified by violent means
People die in glory as the hero
Or live to see themselves become the villains
Life goes on, with love forgotten long ago

But why do we mourn for that which has passed?
Beauty is that which does not always last.