Funny how the seconds hand climbs and fall
In the house of the old pensioner who sits by the wall.
Looking wishy-washy and grey, granddad he’s called
Holding in the highest regard,
Teeth of wisdom and Tangs of old
Eyeglass beneath the nose, eyes espying through to the papers he reads,
Listening to old good music and reminiscing on old good days.
The bright colors seems offensive to his look, recent hi-tech he fails to use.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem