Author Hiroaki Sato Years pass swiftly like an arrow shot from the string. My small nephew's now past my hips, the big one past my shoulders. In our living room I've observed both children grow, and feel my " fragrant years " further decrease. Tags Short Poems Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments