There is a poem. I don't know the name.

Quiet life on the vine

In the countryside where the stars are lower than the lights.

I will grow old slowly.

Counting elm branches and ceramics

Then do the math.

Spring comes a little late.

Your adopted puppy.

I'm senile now.

This is the God you promised me, right?

Still by the fireplace

Listen to me read poetry.

this year

I need to read with a magnifying glass

Those letters you wrote to me.

Two more typos were found.

Some things have to wait until now to understand.

love

Sometimes I climb the wool and listen to the radio.

Even drink old tea.

I'm going to sleep quietly, too

Oh!

I can't change anything.

This little bad habit

Because of occasional sleepiness

I can bring you to see me.

According to the doctor.

I will gradually lose the ability to name things.

Can no longer understand correctly

Season, time and life and death

But what does it matter?

They won't make you farther or closer.

"I'm within your reach."

You said it, and I believed it.

But what should we do?

I see more cherry blossoms and sycamore trees in one season than you.

And dates planted by our two sons.

Green, red and left.

The whole garden is.

I'm getting closer to you, too. ...