Adjusting systems of belief as
I age closer to the end of life.
Finding out, through wisdom's eyes,
that some things were never important
and little things grew in wonder.
In retrospect, years bring a colorful
discrepancy into the picture.
Giving us choices we'd rather not think
about until we've traveled to the rim of
whatever happens to corner us in a
makeshift nightmare.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem