The Poem of an Old Writer


Simple symbols seize new space
On the monitor of mine,
A new phase of life I face,
Seas of words surround my mind:
Lots of letters, dark as coal,
Small like atoms, on a page,
Small are steps towards a goal,
It will take another age
To create a tale of sense;
And the tail of my past,
Which once made my life too tense,
Having passed, is light at last.
Days of writing lost their looks —
Bits of sands, and now a lens
I must use to read my book,
Since the writing is too dense,
Since my weary eyes are weak,
Like my memories of youth.
Others’ help I have to seek
Just to magnify the truth
Of the days I’ve spent in writing
When my health still held aloof;
When my mind still was mighty,
I could climb any roof.


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