as an old man,
every uneasy step i take,
i miss the long walk,
each sigh i make,
always brought a melancholy thought.
My son, my son,
the fall of a dead leaf,
warns the green one,
in my time, we wasted gowns,
now i wonder why i look like a clown,
with different ups and down,
life has no definition,
what my grandmother told me,
are no more true,
many have been washed away,
and now a playing tool,
Son, love with your mind,
and learn with your heart,
this will keep you in times of heart betrayal.
If life frowns at you,
be not depresses, or empty,
like a drowned river,
and if life brings a good fortune,
be not related,
like an ant around honey,
for those he favoured as now been frowned at.
My son, behold,
the game is still the same,
but the rules has change,
you may reject my kola,
but take my words,
its from an ancient man.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem