Leucon, no one's allowed to know his fate,
Not you, not me: don't ask, don't hunt for
    answers
In tea leaves or palms. Be patient with
    whatever comes.
This could be our latern winter, it could be
    many
More, pounding the Tuscan Sea on these
    rocks:
Do what you must, be wise, cut your vines
And forget about hope. Time goes running,
    even
As we talk. Take the present, the future's no
one's affair.