A draft on the calendar of years
When we say a day, we see the trivialities of the life
Of a man on earth.
When we say a week, we remember the eternal poverty of man
His labor the bread and the sadness.
And when we say a month we say the renewed hope
Like a moon filling up for better times.
And when we say years ... years ...
The sound of the value of time screams at us from the ground And raising sad eyes to the sky and all its legions.