Old Newspapers Poem by Biceps Donten

The summer season is over, the leaves on the trees in the park have turned red.
My young time is over and my hair has turned much whiter.
I go to sleep today with forgotten events wrapped around my body.

Little by little the wind grows colder.
Little by little, events grow old.
Little by little I am approaching death.

Soon winter will come.
Soon snow will fall to cover up the unnecessary.
And spring will come to wash it all away.

If I disappear next year, no one will notice.
No record will be kept.
No one will sleep with me wrapped around their body.