Age is but a number, nothing less, nothing more
For a white-haired man could still be selfish and petty,
Where a young boy could be giving and moral
Though the white-haired man is safe and protected,
By a rich father and tides of servants
But the boy, so young, stands by two graves,
With rain, sorrow and the world on his shoulders
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I agree to the title statement.