Other translations - Child

What joy can there be for those who see
     that their white bones will be cast away
          like gourds in the autumn?
Of the bones a citadel is made
     plastered over with flesh and blood,
and in it dwell old age and death,
     pride and deceit.

‍
O how fragile, o how fleeting
the lives of humans.
as a mist soon appears
and as quickly gone again
so are all our lives. Behold!