My Uncle's Old Age Poem by Alexandro Johns

When my uncle fell into poverty
he sold his books
and at the closing lids of his tale
he got lighten the soul

He left behind
our happy pictures
at a smooth river in the desert
where we fished trouts
but I can hear his copper voice
when he taught me to be a man

Old age has no price
repeats its joke ad nauseam
their dead leaves are bother on eyes
as sadness of others
far away it shows the stone tower
that also will fall down on us.