I am seventy years old now,
and can't help looking back,
on the happy days of childhood,
before my face began to crack.
Now I'm just an old man,
I see life is just a game,
and however hard we try to win,
our fate remains the same.
Now as my game draws to its end,
their's just one question for you to tend.
What does man live for?
For the end.
(1972 aged 15)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem