You renew creation every day
But every morning
I notice
A new gray hair
A new wrinkle or two
Or a creaking joint
As I brush my hair.
By breakfast time
The children have grown
At least a bit.
My mom feels worse
The in-laws look tired
The car’s in the shop
And the fridge’s on the fritz
This morning
Creation may be new again
But my small world keeps getting older.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem