Third Age Poem by jan oskar hansen
Third Age
Driving home from the cinema I saw
mans future in as sea mist, inevitable;
the approaching age of abandonment.
Face lift? Seventy going fifty, the inner
clock ticks regardless, there is no escape
in the mist no one hears you anymore.
Quiet voices, you see them, only if you
care to look, on park benches, in café’s
and at bus stops, looking into their past.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/24/2024 7:08:56 PM # 1.0.0.1119
