What lies ahead remains untold, untapped

And all thatÂ’s past is but a memory

Gone on to join the thousand winds that blow

Those winds upon which spirits of the dead do dance

When from the mouth of mortals they escape

With that last, fleeting breath of earthly life

To what task, therefore, are these winds assigned?

What use here for this breath now long expired

Or fresh as yesterday and touch of spring?

Waft, waft sweet scent of roses fair, alas

A season only is thy bloomsÂ’ short span

And such a season is the life of man

Each man doth breathe and all take up the song

No matter whether live or dead the spirit

That dances there, its journey shall not end

No crafted box of finest wood and gold

Can come between the was, the here, the shall be

Reign in the showers and feed your fellow men

Sweet roses bloom and daisies nod your heads

And rivers wide run onward to the ocean

Blow, blow young boy with tender lips of childhood

Join in the windÂ’s song, ere your boat is sailing

By fine string strung and tethered to your hand

Such are the joys of living in the land

What lies ahead remains untold, untapped

The only thing thatÂ’s certain is this moment

That life shall follow birth just for a season

And join the winds on which the spirits dance

The old man once ran as a little boy

Death is sure, but not the final curtain