Classic Poem

When I was alive, I wandered in the streets of the Capital:
Now that I am dead, I am left to lie in the fields,
In the morning I drove out from the High Hall:
In the evening I lodged beneath the Yellow Springs.
When the white sun had sunk in the Western Chasm
I hung up my chariot and rested my four horses.
Now, even the mighty Maker of All
Could not bring the life back to my limbs.
Shape and substance day be day will vanish:
Hair and teeth will gradually fall away.
Forever from of old men have been so:
And none born can escape this thing.