Friend, your white beard sweeps the ground.
Why do you stand, expectant?
Do you hope to see it
In one of your withered days?
With your old eyes
Do you hope to see
The triumphal march of Justice?
Do not wait, friend!
Take your white beard
And your old eyes
To more tender lands.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I have found so much meaning on this poem, it might be my favorite one of all time. It makes me think of my parents, and gives me hope for the future. A short masterpiece.