The tears of those who love us
gently water the cheeks of the earth.
Another beautiful bloom
turns into a wrinkled seed,
they lament.
Ah, a premature death,
A premature life,
Why must it be so?
The streams of those who love us
gently water the cheeks of the earth.
Another flower blossoms,
until a wrinkled seed appears,
we comment.
Yet a premature life,
Not a premature death!
It is good that it is so.
The tears of God who loves us
gently water our cheeks in the earth.
Another wrinkled seed,
turns into a beautiful flower,
we assent.
To a mature life,
Not a premature death,
Yes, it will be so!
Someday the seed turns into flower
or the flower dies in the seed.
Alas, if we know not which day it is,
Rejoice if we do.
