When the past is done,
and the ink from a stamped hand is scrubbed off;
the stench of new toys and taste of cotton candy is no longer fun,
Would I catch your glance?
Because shorter lines,
with no time to think and no way to truly decide,
makes for such a smaller mind!
And you still won't take your eyes off paper...
When you can no longer chew your lip,
your nails have lost all length and luster,
and Life offers you her cup, begs you to have a sip,
Perhaps it'll be too late to save her.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem