She sits upon her terrace,
overlooking her life,
pondering and reflecting,
accepting and mourning,
smiling and frowning,

a colour of emotions
shining upon her face
like the greatest of
the suns rays.

With her head bowed
she realizes,
sometimes when you live,
to be of old age
often you live to see death,
coldest games.

When you live to be her age,
losing a child is a reality you must face,
sometimes you may lose them all,
because you outlived the times,

now she sits and waits,
for her time to come..