Age creeps upon us slowly, showing first in our surroundings,
as piles of newspapers climb ever higher.
Stacks of magazines are strewn throughout, giving our room
an impression of being smaller.
Defending ourselves against the onslaught of hidden
recriminations we find excuses for our ever-increasing amount
of papers.
Needing to keep each and every issue until they can be gone
through is an attempt to assure others of their reason for
being there.
Putting someone off when they've volunteered to help is a
way to keep from doing what they know they ought to.
Causing things to be left undone for now - with your death
will bring helping hands of those you cannot trust to do
your will when you are gone.
Taking the time you need to swallow a temporary discomfort
and have a trusted friend by your side doing what you ask,
clearing up any clutter old age will bring into your room.
Age creeps upon us slowly, so we must look for the tell-tale
signs we are showing others within our cluttered rooms and
stay one step ahead of ourselves, before our death.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem