Look at the chain hanging from the world's wrists.

Children, looked upon by the older,
are told to cherish their childhood freedom
and leniency from mischief. Because, in
two hurried decades, they become

fresh-faced adults, experiencing
the peak of their beauty, hearing grieving
elders saying not to take their youth for granted.
The small children don't see this, and wish they could
now ripen into maturity, only to turn into

the aged, regarded by the adults who live in
a cycle of endless work and sleep as relieved from
these necessary burdens. Replacing this worry is
the impending journey, always looming over
a sobered mind, which will make an appointment with

death, who didn't have time to stop at everybody's doorstep,
unexpectedly pressing doorbells while ignoring others' welcome mats,
for many people wish they could be like the dead,
unfeeling and done, above all the pains...

But the grand chain stops there;
the dead have no one to envy in their turn.

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