Babies and young sapplings are silky smooth,
adorned by curls and twirls, unfurled.
But age assails and weather beats brows
to dry, and wrinkles the smooth with furrows and lines.
Twists and contortions compels yields and compliances
reshaping the surface to bumpy with knots and gnarls,
knurling a rough grip to deny the slip
that smooth young skin and wills
are prone to show when asked to follow a lead.
The rough and worn acrimony of old age,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem