I feel bad for the old, made redundant by age.
Towards them we are cold in their life's final stage.
They have much they can teach to the young around them.
If only they could reach, without being condemned.
They have lived for an age the young can't comprehend.
We see only one page from the book they have penned.
They have helped shape the earth as we see it today.
They have given us birth, why not meet them halfway.
They have lived a lifetime of happiness and pain.
They've had mountains to climb and the scars made remain.
If none of this moves you to look out for the grey.
You are in the same queue it will soon be your day.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem