Many long years have traversed this life, carrying
burdens that weren't always light.
A life-time spent in managing nature, rearranging
cacti to suit certain fancies.
Carefully tending acres and acres, remaining silently
beneath blankets of knowledge.
Carrying out rigorous duties endlessly by the light
of day, sleeping fitfully at night.
Life tenderly portrayed itself through a dear little
man, hair whitened by age, shoulders tired, leaning
forward.
Late in life, legs refusing to walk anymore, Witt
sits on a couch, thinking about his work.
Falling asleep, quietly he rolled out of life and
stepped into death, unafraid of his journey into
heaven, relieved at last of his earthly duties.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem