That face is never getting old with time.
It still bring me close and you not afar,
From time present. Small morning here dreams alone
And love-gate open for memory to come home.
All things that make you who you are,
Gifts and robs the soul at once:
Those blessings giving, and curses, retaining,
As they were with you,
They are with me here now
Even death dust cannot touch the evergreen,
Of grandchildren ,their days not yet seen.