A senile man is sitting in his favorite chair,
Thinking of burdens which he used to bear:
Working, cooking, financial problems and so fourth.
Now, it's time he took a rest;
There's nothing for him to quest.
Not time he learnt the most complex Mathematical sentence.
Not time he longed for revenge or abhorrence.
Not time he helped his daughter make a Halloween pumkin,
But it's high time he rested forever in his coffin.
- J.P. Millcoln -
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
rested for ever. thanks.