There she is
old and wrinkled
but still unravished
for pity’s sake
shivering and freezing
in her wintry gown
next to the ice covered lake

There was a young guy
under her laurel fresh green
in springtime
with a girl beside
reading with verve
love poems to her
she couldn’t help looking aside

Gather your rosebuds
while you may
and let us love
old time is still a-flying
so let’s not tarry
our blood’s in a surge
before our blossom is dying

And there she is
old and wrinkled
her skin just rough and gnarled
immersed in deep sorrow
she’d lost her prime
and changed
into a weeping willow