The Wintery whiskers askewd to face...
Provides real warmth during Winter's frozen grace.
These hairs disguise to old...
Grayly lit, not be bold.
Age'd days in years survived...
Wisdom's rays, are mine, surmised.
Chances taken...
Many choices, mostly-mistaken.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem