If space and time, as the wise ones say,
are things that cannot truly be,
then the fly that lives for only a day
lives just as long as we.
Yet meanwhile, we live as much as we can,
while life and love are free,
for time is time and slips away,
though the wise may think differently.
The flowers I sent you when the dew
trembled upon the vine
withered before the bee could fly
to taste the wild rose’s wine.
Yet still we must hurry to gather them,
and not be saddened to see them fade;
and though the flowers of life be few,
they may be divine.
