The young don’t know they won’t be anymore. That' s why I don’t complain when in the bus no one gives me a seat And I have to stand up my whole journey. I understand them. They don’t know. They’ll be old, one day. And they’ll remember all the old chaps they didn’t help.... They....hum.... Who knows what they’ll think! They might not even reach my age. This youth dies young. © 2012 Grecia Albornoz
¡A buen entendedor, pocas palabras! A word to the wise is enough!