And shorter by a year will be my life’s duration.
And my beard will become more silver than red.
And I will understand even less my daughter’s generation.
As the one I was raised in - I’ll more often forget.
Just as before, unknown to others, my verses fade.
Just as before, the sphere circles the sun, in trajectory.
Painlessly, the day is replaced by the night’s cascade
And silently, the hand of time rummages in memory.
I am leasing from God, for my life, time and space,
To pay back at once and in full with the soul when it ripens
To allow other lips to recite my canticles with grace,
Inflating the memory’s sail with fresh sound of guidance.
So that it pulls and sets the unknown vessel on moving
And the salted waves of silence become by the hull levered.
What of it that I was born long ago and no longer grooving?
I’m still keeping my course. No less straight than ever.