I see a ram that is resting and it looks quite old.
I feel humbled by the transition that stalks the youthful stage.
Everything fresh do get withered,
From bud to bloom to burst,
So bright no blight,
A touch of beauty for it youth,
But time and tide soon happens to all,
As the strong shivers in old age.
A burst of strength,
A run of glory,
So much is the grace that comes with the great,
At the baby sun rises from it cradle,
A burns up the earth in the mid of it youth,
Then softly it recedes down the horizon,
To get a drink down the sea,
So does it go with the bane of the youth,
Which must seek rest under the sun.
Like a trapped air in a balloon,
It raises the bloated uo high,
In strength and elegance it soars,
Like the young eagle in it prime,
In splendour does it shake up the snow,
Like the moose of the wood,
But like a tired ship anchored never to set sail,
So does one seek rest for the old bones.