When folds will sear your forehead,
Passions brand your lips with its
Hideous fires - you will feel that.
Now you allways charm the world.
Will it allways be - God knows.
Yes, you have a lucky way
But what Gods give –
They take away...
You only have two thousand days,
Which you could live
And do a fade...
Moment I once met you, I
Saw that you were quite ally.
All confessions, have-been-might,
I beared too long your out-of-sight.
Oh, these false ideals of age:
We only have two thousand days.
5 декабря 2003г.