Days to come stand in front of us,

like a row of burning candles -

golden, warm, and vivid candles.

Days past fall behind us,

a gloomy line of burnt-out candles;

the nearest are still smoking,

cold, melted, and bent.

I don't want to look at them: their shape saddens me,

and it saddens me to remember their original light.

I look ahead at my burning candles.

I don't want to turn, don't want to see, terrified,

how quickly that dark line gets longer,

how quickly one more dead candle joins another.

Constantine P. Cavafy

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