Please my Lord, I beg of thee,
let me not grow old.
It would surely be the end of me,
if honest the truth be told..
I pray to thee Lord, as oft I should,
in the hope that I shan’t age.
I wish to stay a blooming bud,
beginnings Life’s blank page.
I tell thee Lord, that I am afraid,
of what my future may hold.
Look upon me, and see what you’ve made,
a man destroyed, by fear of Old.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem