The living is a passing traveler; <br />The dead, a man come home. <br />One brief journey betwixt heaven and earth, <br />Then, alas! we are the same old dust of ten thousand ages. <br />The rabbit in the moon pounds the medicine in vain; <br />Fu-sang, the tree of immortality, has crumbled to kindling wood. <br />Man dies, his white bones are dumb without a word <br />When the green pines feel the coming of the spring. <br />Looking back, I sigh; looking before, I sigh again. <br />What is there to prize in the life's vaporous glory?<br /><br />Li Po<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-old-dust/
