Thirty-three years I have lived.
Thirty-three years I have died.
In sum-total, thirty-three have I.

What of the past, which is past?
What of the present, which only lasts?
And of the future, all but forecasts?

I have been born and I have died.
In many endeavors, I have tried.
In sum-total, these alone have I.

The past is taunting, where it taunts;
The present, haunting, where it haunts;
And the future wanting, where it wants.

In my birth, I have only died;
In my death, I have lived alive;
And only thirty-three have I.

The wind, it blows where it blows,
And casts about weeping willows,
But I have not felt it in my soul.

Thirty-three years I have lived.
Thirty-three years I have died.
In sum-total, thirty-three have I.

These thirty-three are but marks in time.
These thirty-three count out my rhyme.
These thirty-three are all of mine.

Forecast.