As I lie on my back
My life flashes before me
Will this be what it is like
When I am a few score years old?
Will I need someone to offer me food and drink
Will I be at the mercy of one
Who may not about me think?
I think about my relatives old
Dark histories retold
Old ones who hobbled to finally cave
Whom no man nor woman could save
They lived a life very brave
But ended as all do in a grave
Then again I think of the loving souls
That day to day in misery toil
Wiping away old blisters and boils
Soothing every whimper and howl
They are living saints
There is no grain of doubt
More of such mettle are eagerly sought
Perhaps I won't last so long as all that
I wouldn't then need anyone
To get me out of the sack
To care or watch my back
No need to develop all that tact
Just have to wait for that rat a tat tat
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem