Forty years on brow
All sap of youth vanish
Left you a waste rag
Eyes sunk in sockets
Life an exhibit of greed
Unless beauty used
Giving birth to son
Proves my time right here on earth
He forms my account
He, your heir in all
See warmth of blood in your son
When time turns you old.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem