grandmother

Grandmother is very old; She has many wrinkles on her face and her hair is very white. But her eyes were as bright as two stars, even brighter than stars. They look very gentle and cute. She can also tell many beautiful stories. She was wearing a floral robe. This is made of a thick silk; The rustling sound of the robe retracting. Grandmother knows many things because she was already alive before her father and mother were born - there is no doubt about it! My grandmother has a collection of hymns with a large silver button on it that can be locked. She often reads this book. There is a rose in the book; It has been pressed flat and dry. It is not as bright as the rose in her glass bottle, but only when she sees this flower does she show her gentlest smile, and tears even flow from her eyes.

I don't know why my grandmother looks at a withered rose in an old book like this. You know what? Every time my grandmother's tears fall on this flower, its color immediately becomes bright again. The rose bloomed, and the whole room was filled with fragrance. The walls on all four sides sank downwards, as if they were just a layer of smoke. A bright green forest appeared around her; Sunlight seeps out from the center of the leaves. At this moment, my grandmother - well, she became younger again. She is a bright little girl with golden curly hair and a round, red face that is both pleasing to the eye and delicate. No rose is as bright as her. And her eyes, those gentle and pure eyes, will always be so gentle and pure. Sitting next to her was a bearded man, so healthy and short. He gave her a rose, and she smiled - grandmother can't show that kind of smile now! Yes, she smiled. But he is no longer there, many thoughts and personal images have floated in front of her. The beautiful young man is no longer there, only the rose still lying in the Hymn Collection. Grandmother - yes, she is now an old lady, still sitting there - looking at the withered rose lying in the book.

My grandmother has also passed away now. She once sat in her armchair and told a very, very long story.

Now that it's over, "she said," I'm tired too; let me sleep for a while. "So she leaned her head back and took a breath. So she slowly quieted down, with a happy and peaceful expression on her face, like sunlight shining on her face. So people said she was dead.

She was put into a black coffin. She lay there, wrapped in several layers of white cloth all over her body. She is so bright and gentle, even though her eyes are closed. All her wrinkles were gone, and a smile appeared on her mouth. Her hair is so silver white, so solemn. Looking at this dead person, you have no fear at all - this gentle and docile old grandmother. The Hymn Collection is placed under her head because it is her will. The rose still lies in this old book. People buried their grandmother like this.

On a grave by the church wall, people planted a rose. It is full of flowers. The night camp sings songs on flowers and tombs. The organ in the church plays the most beautiful hymn - the hymn from the poetry collection placed under the deceased's head. The moonlight shines on this grave, but the deceased is not there. Even at night, every child can safely walk there and pick a rose by the cemetery wall. A dead person knows more than the living. The deceased knew how much terror we would feel if we saw them appear. The deceased are better than all of us, so they no longer appear. The coffin was piled with soil, and the inside was filled with soil. The Hymn Collection and its pages have become soil, and the rose full of memories has also become soil. But on this soil, new roses bloom again, nightingales sing on it, and the organ plays music, so people think of the old grandmother with a pair of gentle, forever young big eyes. Eyes will never die! Our eyes will see our grandmother, a young and vibrant grandmother, like the grandmother who kissed the bright red rose for the first time, now lying in the grave and turning into soil.

① According to modern Hebrew superstition, God created humans from clay, so even after death, humans still turn into clay.