When the old clock of the fifth signal
straightens his bones in the dark
from the little room and starts coughing
and it is your cough the enunciation of the dawn.
Slowly search the old slippers
and between curses he lights the stove;
no longer has humor, even less patience
for that tremor that disorients him.
Everything is seen, hands already.
Everything is getting out of hand now.
Elderly, old, old.
Old age is just an autumn in peace
stop crying and teach me to fly,
that if you are old, I carry in my bones
also old age, melancholy
that lashes my days like a sad fish.
Old man?? old man?? old man??
That in your old branches
when the wind blows I will shelter myself;
that next to your bed, if you want tomorrow,
I will make you coffee.
Old man?? old man?? old man??
Old man.
Only among all we can make this a better place :)