"Yes, these are mine," the aged woman answered with a smile.
"These little vases are my life. You see that it's been quite a while
Since the day that I was born and yearly on my birthday morn
My mother first, and then my son, had given me another one."
"No, I'd never sell them, for they are my life," said she.
"Each vase upon that burdened shelf means a year of life to me.
Each of the eighty vases there is filled to its lip with love and care,
So 'though their value may be great, their meaning to me will compensate."
The days and nights she spent alone at where he stayed.
She was happy that her debt to the world had long been paid
And she was satisfied to stay at home and rest
And keep her precious vases bright and clean and looking all their best.
Then like a cat upon a mouse a thief came stealing through her house.
He took her precious vases while she lay asleep in bed.
Found next day below her shelf was the aged woman, dead.