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Updated on July 29, 2012

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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