I was never sold
on the prospect that I would grow old
but now that I have
now that I am, certain things I have learned on my own.
Roses are different now
having no scent
they have colours, they had not when a child.
Sleep is a friend,
seeing into the dark I seek out those shadows
and smile.
The woods once were deep, the trees once were tall
inside of the bush where I hid.
The scent of a rose as it brushed my young nose
no thought about death did I have.
Now that I have grown old
I find it a great relief that no thought of such things
more attention I now pay to her eyes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem