I may have wrinkled face, tired looking eyes,
That do not see as clearly,
And my head is covered by fine December snow
When I take my scarf off.
As I stand up, I crumble,
And I no longer sing as I used to,
Now I buy bread off the baker,
Once baked by my able hands,
My time is spent in memories of time gone,
My clothes are simple, that once I made,
With friends by the fire, singing songs of praise!
But what matters the most,
That I loved each moment and each living soul.
My love is something that no one can explain,
It is made of deep devotion and of sacrifice and pain.
It is endless and unselfish, for nothing can destroy it
It is patient and forgiving and it glows with all the beauty.