Sweet and slow,
The river's flow.

May you shed your adorned dresses,
And may you wave your hair, its silver tresses.

May your newfound frailty,
Never be taken for granted,
For I know you were wilting,
Yet you stood strong like a tree, stubbornly planted.

Sweet and slow,
The river's flow,
Forward it goes,
For miles until you run through the earth.

Your wrinkles will be seen in my bedclothes.
Your hair will be seen in my silverware.
Your dreams will be seen at your grave.
We all return to sod while our children cry in vain.

So may the river carry on,
Sweet and slow,
But too soon for I.

Yes, sweet and slow,
The river's flow.