She yesterday, with a red rose, adorned her black hair,
her laughter shone like gold under the sun.
Today she has dyed her short hair in shades of gray and white,
but in her eyes still sparkles the dawn’s light.
Today her steps have become softer and more delicate,
like the whisper of an endless kiss of love.
Of her youth, a divine treasure, an old calendar has erased her days;
each fallen leaf is an echo of laughter,
a heartbeat of those days kept in a chest in some dark corner.
The passage of time has left its mark,
tired smiles and sleepy sunsets that will not return.
The passage of time has taken with it
thousands of stories and the occasional old song.
She now is the map of infinite memories,
stories sung in distant dawns, hidden in her heart.
Today the afternoon has come to sleep in her nest, that’s why she
softly asked me to lower my voice.
She has fallen asleep peacefully; I can see on her face that she feels no fear.
The passage of time has taken its toll,
but it has not erased the infinite memories,
nor the remembrances, much less her love.
