⁵     My putrid skin is covered with maggots and a dirty crust.
        It hardens and cracks and oozes again.
⁶     My days whisk by swifter than the shuttle in a weaver’s loom—
        back and forth, and back and forth—
        and then they come to their hopeless end.
⁷     My life, remember, is just a breath;
        in death no more good will reach my eye.