Nearing the end of my days, I bless you, life,
because you did not give me false hope,
neither unjust labors nor undeserved sorrows,
Because I see at the end of my difficult path
that I was the architect of my own destiny;
That if I got honey or bile out of anything
it was because I had myself put honey or bile in it.
When I planted rose bushes, I always harvested roses.
...True, winter will follow my youthful days
But you never promised an eternal spring!
My nights of sorrow were undoubtedly long,
but you didn't promisse all my nights would be good
and I had some that were wonderfully calm,
Finally...
I loved, I was loved. The sun caressed my cheeks.
Life, you owe me nothing! Life, we are at peace!