I see an old woman some day’s
Her face is all withered and grey.
No red blooms there upon her cheek.
No rosy colour upon her mouth.
No sparkle in her old, old eyes.
History upon that face I see,
in every wrinkle, line and crease.
a lifetime story in eyes so old.
life, birth death and time are in
her weary eyes.
She knows me well or so she thinks
And I know her, but do I?
I don’t know. I don’t recognise her anymore
When I see her.
She used to look so different.
But when was that? I don’t recall.
Voices echo down through times
great hall, telling of when she had it all.
Youth, love, friends. But most of all,
Time. She had time.
Ah yes Death you old knave.You will see her to her grave
Walk with her, her final steps.
So much she hasn’t seen or done!
but she knows her dayhas come, her life will be undone.
And youwill still bewhen she isdead and gone.
You’ll turn your pages and history will be
Forgotten, a whole life history.
New lives will be written. A new one for every old.
And a new story will begin to unfold.
I asked the old woman if she was ready for you now,
I said maybe tomorrow I’m not done with today, yet.
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