Unchain me from the chains that have tied me forty years or more.
How many summers, and how many winters.
Let me write down and sing this my Birth day.
And mourn tomorrow for the sixty-seven.
But they be passed, lest them rest
Prepare the mourning dress for tomorrow
Winter of life became interrupted just for a day.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem