My heart half died when she left me so soon,
Never did I believe I could survive without my muse
The other half comforts and tries to make up,
But a Father is a far cry from a Mother's tender love.
It stings when I see a picture near,
Though it is soothed as I glimpse in the mirror.
So clear do I see her eyes.
I have my Father at my side,
And my Mother's blood running inside.
They will always help me thrive,
For as long as I am alive.
I will survive.