The oldness of the old depresses
My own oldness depresses
My being among the old depresses
The small children make us happy
Their running their jumping their nonsense
Their little talk- if they talk
The end depresses
The beginning gives hope
The old love to see the small children
The small children want their parents
Life is not fair
The more you have done, experienced, given
The more you know
Does not matter in the end
Old is old
And young is young
Go slow-
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem