His hair of white, with years on me;
he'd take my ear: I listened carefully.
He'd shake his head and always smile
at some trouble I was in… of mischievous crimes.
I loved his roses.
They smelled like sugar I thought…
they smelled of the dreams I had yet to dream up.
When I was sick,
he'd bring me roses from his own garden…
those I somehow loved even more.
Never lose your spirit, he'd say.
When old and gray
all you'll regret are the things you didn't do!
Don't ever lose that spirit, he'd say.
Make your story unique and sweet
with a few lows and the highest peaks.
Make your book an enchanting tale
with the freedom of a ship on sail.
Make your story unique and sweet
with a few lows and the highest peaks.
See Mash Mammad, I know you're watching me.
Your words, like roses, have stayed with me.
I listened: I listened carefully.
And my chapters are as thick as can be.
