I’ve noticed that things often tend
To merge together, to fade or blend
Until they don’t stand out so proud
Don’t wave or leap or shout out loud
As you get older your birthdays mingle
So each one doesn’t stand out single
You even find you forget which year
You’ve reached when it is drawing near
Travelling to work the same old way
It’s hard to separate each day
You find it tough to answer when
Asked what you were doing then
Auto-pilot’s your mind’s condition
When faced with endless repetition
I guess that’s why it surprised me
To find I’ve reached number 250
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem