His length of time was measured
by solitude, not knowing whether
he was a thing or a being, either
way though, each year of his life
was marked by one descending
trial that tested both his mental
and physical age; and he showed
the sure signs of his declining
years - graying of hair, bit of a
spread, and feet of clay; all of
which contributed to being less
and less noticed by a youthful
generation; but someday they'll
be in the same boat, rowing
with only one oar, as they go
over the falls of life - who really
cares; and when you die and
get buried, who's gonna give a
damn about the average life
expectancy...
'2008'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem