Life gradually becomes a rearguard action.
We know that illnesses are on their way,
and age will soon creep up.
We wait,
like soldiers left to cover a retreat,
knowing that the enemy's too vast to beat.
All we can do is dig in well,
delay defeat a while; perhaps have time
to watch our children grow, if they survive,
foreseeing that they too will one day fight
till their last breath, against
these same advancing hordes of age and death.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem