When my hair turn gray and white,
When my skin changed from its origin,
When my hearing switch from its origin,
When my voice ,my thinking and all change.
I’ll seat down and read,
I’ll tell my story through the book,
Surely i will dream of my old looks,
My hair has once being,
The texture of my skin,
High pitch my ears have been,
The sweetness of my voice and;
How many loved my moment of glad and grace,
But still i will love the sorrow of my changing face,
Because sun raise,surely it shall set