When the Aggregates arise, decay and die, O bhikkhu, every moment you are born, decay, and die.

Through the round of many births I roamed without reward, without rest, seeking the house-builder. Painful is birth again & again.House-builder, you're seen!You will not build a house again.All your rafters broken,the ridge pole destroyed,gone to the Unformed, the mind has come to the end of craving.

You are as the yellow leaf.The messengers of death are at hand.You are to travel far away.What will you take with you?You are the lampTo lighten the way.Then hurry, hurry.When your light shinesWithout impurity or desireYou will come into the boundless country.Your life is falling away.Death is at hand.Where will you rest on the way?What have you taken with you?You are the lampTo lighten the way.Then hurry, hurry.When your light shines purelyYou will not be bornAnd you will not die.

I shall live here in the rains,There in winter,Elsewhere in summer," muses the fool,Not aware of the nearness of death.