Age is a wretched thing;
it creeps up on me like a spider
tiptoes across her web
to devour latest victims.
Lotions, potions, rubs and pills
keep me healthy and I am most grateful
to take my vacations by the sea
where warmth is my friend.
But one day
when I am no longer at home in these old bones,
I will fly, light as a bird,
to rest in a tree in that heavenly garden;
take special delight in its delicious apples
... and perhaps a spider or two.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem