They say I am a grandpa
My hair is grey I admit,
That's sign of my wisdom
The walking stick that keeps me aging.
They say my time have gone,
IG, WatsApp I am out of their type,
Mine is holding my pipe
Like a grave on strike
Let's see your choice son
Now old men we are waste
Because of six packs on your chest.
IG and all newcomers will age,
Feminists, nudists will rage
I will go on sittin'in my cage
Paging through pages of time
Because wisdom is for elders
And wise men never age.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem