We are building up a stock of days
To call upon when we grow old,
Filling our hearts with joy
So that they withstand the cold;
Will we ever be this carefree again?
So wrapped around with love,
Our brimming plates laid down to us,
No need to push and shove;
Our clothes, newly-washed and ironed
Arranged for us to wear,
Each day filled with laughter and play
Fending off sorrow and care;
Each day spent thus, a paradise
At leisure, no frenzied hurry,
These days our youthful treasure
To slake tomorrow’s worry
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem