It's not to fear this growing old
-Despite flaming pain and strife-
For it's just another chapter head
"Confining, yes! " But which lives as 'Life'.
We see that wizened man now lame, not spry
His life now less than bliss-
But what about the proverb sly:
'It beats the alternative'?
Our memories is of our youths' gone past-
They tower all to so blue,
Like a balloon that ascends and goes more fast
Halting at death-where we stream anew.
And that surging kite
So stokes, she soars
And crests- after going up and up,
We see that babe at breakfast-time-
While now it's after sup
So surcease your time for frightened tears-
too late for sorrows rued,
The long-winded sojourn is now 'neath dirt-
And soon new memories will again come due-
Making way for your dessert!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem