I once believed that we have things our own,
a life that’s long with many years to go,
and love that’s full to outlast the ages
and wealth accrued by constant yearly grind.
But what is life when it’s behind you now,
and shining youth is lost in old age?
But where is love that’s lost to endless death,
and not to be reclaimed from cold despair?
But what is wealth that gilds a gray coffin
and builds a mausoleum marble-clad?
That all will end, that we will have nothing,
for past is gone and future is not yet,
that losing’s constant, ineluctable,
I know this now, both is true and certain.
Despite what we have lost there still remains
now, now is all we have, the sum total,
the only remedy is living now,
the recognition of the present time.
Though we are always, ever losing now,
there always is another now, once more,
and we need not lose now ever again.