Grandmother is very old. Her face is crumpled¹, and her hair is white as snow. But her eyes are twinkling like two stars. When she looks at us with her generous and gentle face, we feel very happy. She tells us many good old stories. She has a lot of knowledge because she began her life even before my father and mother.

Grandmother often reads a hymnbook with a sliver² clamper in her spare time. A dry rose is put between the leaves of the book. The rose is not as beautiful as a rose in a glass vase, but she sometimes smiles and cries quietly when she looks at the rose.

When her tears fall down on the dry rose, it comes to life again, and its' peaceful and beautiful scent³ fill the whole room. The walls turn into a green forest, and the sunlight of summer shines through thick leaves of the trees, she changes into a beautiful girl with rose-colored and full cheeks and curly blond hair. A tall and healthy young man sits beside her and gives a rose to the girl. Then, she smiles beautifully.

The girl became a Grandmother and could not smile that beautifully, but she can smile graciously while she is recollecting⁴ her memories of the past. The handsome young man is gone, and the rose is dry and put between the leaves of the book. The girl became an old lady looking at the dry rose.

The Grandmother is passed away now. She fell asleep leaning her head on a chair. Her breath became quiet, and her face was full of happiness and peace. It seemed as if a ray of sunlight was shining on her face.

In a black casket, and in a white cloth, she was closing her eyes, but her wrinkles were gone so that she looked much younger. Her hair was shining, and she was smiling peacefully. The hymnbook with the dry rose was put beside her head. Then, she was buried.

People planted a rose tree on her grave next to the fence of a church. Moonlight was shining on the grandmother's grave. She was not in her grave. However, the dead people know much more than the living. They know that if they suddenly come up in front of us, we should be very terrified.

Dead people live a better life than we do. That's why they never come back. The leaves of the hymnbook, and the rose all returned to dust with her old memories. But the new roses come to bloom every year on her grave, nightingales sing beautiful songs, and an organ plays beautiful tunes⁵.

The memory of the grandmother looking young, and having soft and generous eyes will remain forever. Someday, we may meet our warm-hearted grandmother. Even though she now became a pile of dust, we will always remember grandmother as a young and beautiful lady when she kissed the red and fresh roses.