He sat in his old rusting truck
Feeling his age, and out of luck;
To his daughter-in-law
An impossible burden
No longer allowed
To get a word in;
The revolver that he got
In the Korean war
Lay on the seat beside him;
Such a tranquil verdant spot
To shoot himself and die in;
He lit his final cigarette
And sucked the rich smoke down:
An old man who had few regrets;
And no reason to hang around.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem