When I stand in front of mirror
Realizing the middle-aged nightmare
Lots of dead, white baby-hairs  
Lingered to get brown or blond colors
I wish the roots were not white
Or were the color of night

When rubbing lotion on my face
Reminds me the aged flecks and speckles
Regret of soft skin in springtime
No dots, no spots without line 
I wish the skin remained young
No matter white, black or brown

Once in a while, my dreams tickle me
Or press my heart like a wind mill
Tears want to fall down on cheeks
Pain knocks on my door and bespeaks
Dreams unused for months and years

But the song of ice cream truck
Brings me again my courage 
Running my childish fortune and luck
Inside my mind, happiness screams
Never give up your dreams!