"Ode to Age"

"Ode to Age"
by Pablo Neruda

I don't believe in age.
All old people
carry 
in their eyes,
a child,
and children,
at times
observe us with the
eyes of wise ancients.
Shall we measure 
life
in meters or kilometers
or months?
How far since you were born?
How long
must you wander
until
like all men
instead of walking on its surface
we rest below the earth?
To the man, to the woman
who utilized their
energies, goodness, strength,
anger, love, tenderness,
to those who truly
alive
flowered,
and in their sensuality matured,
let us not apply
the measure 
of a time
that may be
something else, a mineral
mantle, a solar
bird, a flower,
something, maybe,
but not a measure.
Time, metal 
or bird, long
petiolate flower,
stretch
through
man's life
shower him
with blossoms
and with
bright
water
or with hidden sun.
I proclaim you
road,
not shroud,
a pristine
ladder
with treads
of air,
a suit lovingly
renewed
through springtimes
around the world.
Now, 
time, I roll you up,
I deposit you in my 
bait box
and I am off to fish
with you long line
the fishes of the dawn!