When I am growing older 
My loneliness sit on a lonely stone  
A stone of Tibet 
Like many old poets 
Who stayed in a cotton house 
And endlessly working their jobs 
Jobs that put them into nice man 
When I am growing older 
My books and pens grow into flowers 
My white hairs and tooth are disappear into sky                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
 
                    