CHRONICLE OF AN OLD LADY
The old lady lay on her deathbed
Broken in body and soul,
Those she loved and cared for
Were too far away to call.
The one she despised and blamed
Despite her miseries, tried;
To do what little was possible
As she worried, fretted and cried.
Her house and money were assets
They would be useful she had felt,
They turned to be useless when needed
Cause they themselves could not help.
So fame and money are useless
Until you have people in your life,
Who love you for what you are
And not for the things you have.
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