Blow, wind, blow this piercing sorrow away,
Swell this lively windsock her forlorn friend
Made, her remembrance of much sweeter days,
When their playtime was not supposed to end.
Shine, oh sun, shine, dry all my loving tears,
Give blooms the life my darling was denied
On far-off shores; she’d lived only six years
And nine months, she was still a little child.
Their windsock soars today, it flaps and sighs
Proud yet feisty, suspended in the air,
Persuades me to pursue it with my eyes
Beyond space and light, an unknown place where
Happy giggles mark the passing of time
Pain fades to oblivion, grief has no rhyme.
(c) Jorge Salavert, 2012.