What will I do?
When I'm sixtytwo?
When my hair turns grey
And I can barely move
Will I get me a maid?
Or a substitute?
To keep taking care of what I've cared
For the past 50 years
Then spend my days sheding tears
For the next 40 years
Like all elders do
Live a living nightmare
Or should I run around
Until I fall to the ground
Live a life full of life
And go down without sound
I think I'll chose choice two.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem