I'm not a rose so withered

my heart can no more ache;

nor have I ceased to will to give

though it's now my lot to take.

For time has done its number

on my old and dying shell,

but still inside this framework

is a person. Can't you tell?

A person who once laughed and played

in the sunshine of my youth,

loved and had a family,

raised them in the Truth.

The joys I shared in friendships,

the sorrows shared in loss,

I still desire to share again,

though that avenue seems lost.

I'm imprisoned - could you visit me?

Just let me know you see

that despite my feeble,  dying frame,

it's still worthwhile to know me.