Can’t count how many mornings I’ve seen or how Many nights I’ve slept through, but I can sure count the days and nights ahead of this moment.
I have so much to talk about.
Not a single child understands my judgments.
My concerns sound funny.
I’m imitated even in my face.
I look at the once busy seashore
The once lively world for me,
Oh every thing is rotting. Decaying by the second, fading with time, passing with the tides.
The presence of too much knowledge is total foolishness.
I can’t count how many mornings ive seen or how Many nights I’ve slept through. But I know I spent one night thinking about this and one morning writing about this.
Old Age Is Catching Up.