A ten years old, curious boy asked an old man:
'Hey mister, why have you grabbed, under your weak shoulder, a cane? '
The old man answered with eyes staring at the view of sun's abate:
'Son as there are no dears left for me, and every second I get older.
In a moment or two in this one day age, they all left to border.
No dears except a wooden stick!
I always carry beneath my shoulder.
It stands beside me when I'm putting
My life between it's hands, yet it is showing
me the true image of loyalty,
though I know that there comes one day
when this bane can hold
no more shame from this look of wan,
no more this ugly image,
that time have given this man.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem