Age is just a number,
One that gives the tales of your mind from the experiences you've had.
Low is the figure but experience the best teacher preferred you as a student,
Constantly throwing the lessons your way with no break.
A masterpiece it prefers to prepare before the set time,
So that different is your kind when the set time arrives.
High is the number,
But least favorite was your kind when in class.
Not much to offer at the table despite the many you've sat at in the many years flown by.
Woeful? Not so…
What's woeful is that majority of the learners come from this class.
Take home for the day..
The cover, just let it be.
It more or less exists to protect what's within,
So don't pay much attention to its design.
Like a letter, open and read what's written inside,
You'd be surprised by the words that make the story of their life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem