I was not even one year-old
When my inquisitive nature
Dipped my li’l hand on fluid white
Burning all the baby cell to ruin.
Pathetic was my condition
With a massive dressing on
And baby child have no freedom
But this was the call for her to sum.
At an early age of three
Stole her father, the hero true
And her mother tried hard
Until the lesson of death she understood.
Forgetting her own pain
Over the loss of her husband
She was more concerned
To teach patiently her daughter, death pain.
And the time with my siblings
Never skip my mind ever
Because they were the real gems
That completed my life forever.