"You must be pretty old", she said with youth's innocence and grace.
"I mean, look at all the wrinkles that are spread across your face! "
"Each wrinkle, " I explained, "tells a story...of when I've laughed or cried or sung."
"No, " I smiled, "these wrinkles show that I have lived...and living keeps me young."
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem