My Life may be like a flower, Fedding every moment every hour, It's fragrance is decaying in time, Like a ending of a short rhyme, I am passing every moment, In the watch of my age, Nearer and nearer you are reaching, When writing on a page, It may like a moving train, to its destination, Overcoming all its hurdles, and inside frustrations, The sorrows and pleasures are like it's stations, Death will receive me on The final destination,