A fine, fair beauty was Madam Rose's past;
Singing tunes with the chirps of birds-
Now in that rocking chair holds the same beauty,
In which was not found in the mask but heart.
The grey-white hair once a deep, pretty black;
That old, broken voice once a sweet solemn tune-
Times may have walked by, bodies have aged;
But old Madam Rose's heart had no changes.
The selfless lady she once was; and the selfless madam she is.
To live, to sleep: the heart's feelings never dies.
Birds once sang with her- oh lucky beings indeed;
Now still in her life, by her window sill.