Scored with wrinkles, her face
Lo! Whom had known better days
In pleasant spring of her feminine race
But of joy or charm, was writ, no trace
With thin gray hair shrouding
And uncertain vision, her eyes, clouding
Lips, tottering, devoid of notice
On cruel death’s hopeless precipice
Perhaps! In Youth’s charming abundance
With welling passion, it gracefully lends
Many dandies courted thy love
Yet, alone, burdened, you sit here, now
Her back is crooked, eyes are weary
A picture of pity, spectacle, sorry
Poor, poor, creature of Fate’s endless fancy
All’s gone past! Thou portrait of misery!
Rosy lips and luxurious tresses do fade
But look not so dreary! For God so made
A spring and winter for life
For Him to love us through bliss and strife
Nearing the final repose
Free of life’s thread, waning close
He shall fill you with life once more
And anon bless thee ever more than before!
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