Someday; her jewelry will be gold

Her hair will sparkle

And she will grow old

She'll smell the peonies

And feel the petals

With her hands, so soft

 

And with her hands as soft

As pure gold

She'll feel each petal

Of the peonie

Who someday will also grow old

 

But when it grows old

It won't grow soft

The brittle peonies

Won't shine gold

They won't sparkle

Not even the petals

 

But until those petals

Grow very old

They will glisten and sparkle;

To the touch, so soft

With ribbons of gold

Wrapped around bouquets of peonies

 

In her hands; large pink peonies

Laid down the aisle; petals

On her finger; gold

“I'll love you until we grow old”

Her gown so soft

Her brother’s tear sparkles.

 

Unveiled, in her eye, a sparkle

A gentle scent of peonies

The music plays soft

She walks along the petals

The necklace she wears is old

It was her grandmother; it's made of gold

 

They whisper soft

With rings that sparkle

Rings of gold

 

Another women observes the peonies

She grazes the petals

Someday too; she and another will grow old.