It’s not the soul that’s getting old
it is the weather that has changed:
the sky is dull, the fog too seldom thins,
the piercing wind, the biting cold
are ravaging the bones and skin

It’s not the soul that’s getting old,
it is the scenery that changed:
the shrunken body, and the withered face,
the greying temples, the sight dim.
The water’s scarce.