The old woman not rues loss of yesteryears
Crumbled though her wrinkles still break in cheers
Her lips parched long dried up her eyes
But if you look close they hold residues of sunrise.
In festive times her folks light her peeling skin
Burn on her candles ornate her within
Revived she feels in the glow of a cobwebbed blush
She turns a petite feminine splendid gorgeous.
But like her past glory they soon in time fade
She grows still older more in years decayed
Staunchly holds ground with the memory of bygone
Knowing when the end comes nobody would mourn.