Times touch carresses a beauties face,
Older yet, beautifully aged,
more so than that of an ugly youth,
Age is said to not matter,
Yet time is but that of ones tastes,
I feel my own emotional maturity,
as death already deems me to be elderly,
and as he sits and waits to welcome me into his godless-door
Waiting for both aged souls, to walk into his boney embrace.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Woa. I don't know how you did it but you managed to make death beautiful and... graceful