well, nothing's gonna
change us,
come to think of it,
our wrinkles have
multiplied
our hands are
sometimes trembling
we have lost control
over what is
happening
receding forehead
falling hair
drying skin, lousy
memories
you see, nothing still
changes us, the way we
feel and think
we are still the children of
the shores
with foams in our hair
seagulls in our lair.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem