My earthly run has now become a walk;
My body frame is weary from its toil;
My voice is just a whisper when I talk;
The yield is lesser from the seed, top-soil.
My special senses have gone dull at last;
My conscience is blunt, under pressure;
I remember my hoary, scary past;
My health is failing - my only treasure.
When senescence takes over any man,
His plight is pathetic with growing years;
Avoid slide-down, no human being can;
How terrible the feeling when death nears!
Yet, aging fills the mind with wisdom much,
Until comes end by angel's final touch!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem