There was once a lively, graceful young man in our circle of merrymakers, always cheerful and sweet-tongued. He never had any sorrows, and his lips were always smiling.
A long time passed without us meeting. When I saw him again, he had married and had children. His joy had been cut at the root, and the flower of his desires had withered.
I asked him, “How are you, and what is your condition?”
He replied, “Ever since I’ve had children, I have not acted like a child.”
What is childhood? Age has turned my hair gray,
And the mere passing of time is a sufficient warning.
When you grow old, leave childish things behind.
Let youth enjoy its playfulness and charm.
Do not seek the joy of youth from an old man,
For the water that has passed down the stream will not return.
When crops are ready for harvest,
They no longer sway like fresh green shoots.
The days of my youth have slipped away from me—
Oh, the grief for that heart-gladdening time!
The strength of my lion-like arms is gone,
Now I am content with a morsel of cheese like a hunting cheetah.
An old woman had dyed her hair black,
And I said to her, “Oh, mother of ancient days,
You may disguise your hair with dye,
But you cannot straighten this bent back."
