She lives in the museum of her lost youth
She offers a cookie they say not she said yes
She withdrew all the mirrors
She avoids her reflection she no longer wants to see herself
She lives surrounded by photos from the past
Her face from that time, her treasure, her trophy
Peachy skin and stretched satin clothes
But the time hurries up and takes back its good
The prettiest flowers tarnish and fade
The young girls that are lucky become old women
The wrinkled skin it is a sheet which they grab
A handkerchief to mourn her husband who leaves us
A feature on the forehead for each of herboys
And eyelids wrinkled her children that go
Her unfold hands are spiders
Which frighten little babies but reassure their elders
The trails from the corners of the eyes are the bed of rivers
Where little by little flow the tears of widows
She said that the years were written on her face
And that deletions block the page
Lets take advantage of the fine weather before the torrential rain
She kills the time before the opposite
She refuses and regrets, she is old now
In excuse, she repeats, she was beautiful before
But the prettiest flowers tarnish and fade
The girls that are lucky become old women
Which have the beauty of the pyramids or of Louvre
The beauty of mountains, glaciers that brood them.