Şi, cu amărăciunea comună vârstei înaintate,
over the table, an old man sits alone,
a newspaper in front of him.
he thinks how little he enjoyed the years
when he had strength, eloquence, and looks.
Yet it seems he was young just yesterday.
So brief an interval, so very brief.
how he always believed—what madness—
that cheat who said: “Tomorrow. You have plenty of time.”
he sacrificed. Every chance he lost
now mocks his senseless caution.
makes the old man dizzy. He falls asleep,
his head resting on the café table.