We had quite a run old girl,
nearly all of it was fun.
A rose is my final gift to you.
I, too, am nearly done.
For sixty years we played the songs,
the stuff of memories.
Our audience has greyed or strayed,
now you've abandoned me.
Our house is like a record store-
Ten thousand old L.P's
Each song labelled and cataloged
-memories in melody.
I did our show that one last time
for those fans who still care.
The truth is I cannot go on
because you are not there.
Beside my bed, your photograph,
You're ever on my mind;
a single rose named Dorothy
whose melodies were mine.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem