“ My days are swifter than a runner; they fly away without a glimpse of joy.They skim past like boats of papyrus, like eagles swooping down on their prey.
You have made my days a mere handbreadth; the span of my years is as nothing before you. Everyone is but a breath, even those who seem secure.“ Surely everyone goes around like a mere phantom; in vain they rush about, heaping up wealth without knowing whose it will finally be.
