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.