When we are young,
life smiles at us
with a perfect set of
pearly white teeth.
When we grow older,
every time someone
we love dies,
it's like having
one of those teeth
painfully extracted
If we reach old age,
when there are only
1 or 2 teeth left
when life smiles at us...
it looks pretty scary!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Haiku for this poem: Perfectly white teeth civilisation does not allow too many. H