Life is a pencil.
In the beginning,
Everything seems as if it will stay the same,
“Ever would it get shorter,” we think.
We want to believe that
Nothing will ever change.

When the pencil shrinks into half,
Then, we notice,
“Oh, I’ve used a lot of it.”
But the way we think about the pencil
Still does not change.
We are too busy writing;
We don’t notice the pencil getting smaller and smaller.

Finally, one day as we sharpen our pencil,
We notice how tiny it became.
And we recite to ourselves,
“Time has passed by so quickly,”
But there is no going back now.
Hence, we just stare at our shrunken pencil,
With tears in our eyes,
Mixed with remorse and pride.
The only thing that can bring back our memory is
The trace the pencil had been left on our papers.