It was the time of spring
but summer was what I wanted.
A white dress on dark skin
seemed to be all I wanted.
At last, another summer ends
but autumn was what I wanted.
The exact time to restart.
The fresh air I longed for.
That way, I was ready for a new autumn
but winter was what I wanted.
To sleep better and a good red wine
was the only thing I asked for.
But when I lived through the cold of winter,
spring was what I wanted.
Bare legs and walks under the sun,
the things I waited for over a year.
In the frenzy of youth
to be old was what I wanted.
The experience and authority,
the true wisdom I aspired to.
But when I reached old age,
to be young was what I wanted.
The unawareness of those who can wait,
the last request, my respite.
This way, thinking of what I lost,
I was never what I wanted.