He was still, words half uttered His lips quivered, the lump over which he stuttered She looks away, tearing and heaving Her fists clenched as her body trembles Thirty seven springs, many a season Stealthily moved through her wrinkling glow Time has come, to take her away Another season, another place Children of fortune, primed by her Sigh and weep as she steps forward Thirty seven springs, and now their children Gather around, not knowing her younger He straightened and steadied as he bid her farewell Throngs of people clapping prayed There was once a maiden who dreamed to teach a stream of chirping chicks each Now generations of townspeople praise her being As she ambles towards her tranquil bloom