By the window, sad and listless
She watches newly falling snow.
A twinkle shines in hardened eyes.
Inside, she\'s still a girl you know.
Her hair is white, and short and sparse.
A forgotten brush lies on the table.
Yet she feels her hair still touch her shoulder.
In the sun, it was soft red sable.
In this old and aging shell,
There is a girl who dreams of spring.
In this body that does not seem hers,
is a lovely bird that cannot sing.
Sometimes she wakes in the early morning,
and fancies what she\'ll do that day.
But like the cold, reality creeps in and takes
her dreams away.
Where are all the boys of summer?
Handsome lads, she sees them still
Suitors and friends when life was green
All buried now along the hill.
She yearns to run through fields of daisies.
Her mind still swims in lakes of glass.
Her soul still dances in the evenings,
Unaware that years have passed.
Into this lonely wintry room
where the aged come, and the seasons go,
a painless ebb of life, then warmth,
outside a bird sings sweet and low.