The swallows have flown away, but there will be a time when they return; the willows have withered, but there will be a time when they turn green again; the peach blossoms have faded, but there will be a time when they bloom again. But you, my wise friend, tell me, why do our days never return once they're gone? - Are they stolen by someone: then who is it, and where are they hidden? Or did they escape on their own: then where are they now? I don't know how many days I've been given, but I can feel my hands becoming increasingly empty. Counting silently, more than eight thousand days have slipped through my fingers like a drop of water on the tip of a needle falling into the sea. My days drip into the stream of time, soundlessly, tracelessly. I can't help but feel a cold sweat and tears streaming down my face. The past is gone, and the future keeps coming; in between, how fleeting it is! In the morning when I wake up, slanted rays of sun shine into my small room. The sun has feet too, moving quietly and imperceptibly; I follow blindly in its rotation. Thus - when I wash my hands, the days flow past in the basin; when I eat, the days flow past in the bowl; when I am silent, they flow past before my fixed gaze. I sense his fleetingness, and when I reach out to hold him back, he slips past the edges of my outstretched hands. At night, as I lie in bed, he nimbly strides over me and flies past my feet. When I open my eyes to greet the sun again, another day has slipped away. I sigh, covering my face. But the shadow of the new day flashes past in my sighs. What can I do in this world of thousands of doors and windows while my days fly away like fleeing birds? Nothing but to wander aimlessly, nothing but to rush about. In these more than eight thousand fleeting days, what remains besides wandering? The past days are like wisps of smoke scattered by the breeze, like thin mists evaporated by the rising sun; what traces have I left behind? Have I ever left even the faintest trace? I came into this world naked, and will I leave just as naked in the blink of an eye? But I cannot accept this - why must I go through life for nothing? You, my wise friend, tell me, why do our days never return once they're gone?