Hair becoming more and more like

A zebra crossing

Time becoming more and more like the gold

A fish of years

Wandering around on my face

 

One does not eat fish my daugther

Who says to me

Daddy, When has your face

Appeared more lines

Of a fish's tail ?

 

While I view at a mirror 

Oh ! a fish of years

Which has already slipped quietly away

Remains a mark it has grounded

Upon my face