Country songs of your time,
While I'm on your lap watching your lips
Mimicking your rhyme.
At times when we gather woods
And cathing birds,
Taking a bath together
and rubbing each others back.
As the water on the clay jar
Runs out one day,
I'd come with you
With my tiny plastic bottle.
Now...
As I stand beside your tomb
Remembering the memories we had,
Indeed it was short but would not fade
No matter how I get old.
After twenty-five years of my journey
Without you at my side,
I'd never missed passing this way
To pray and lift my hope in silence.
Tomorrow, maybe...
If the high tides prevent me
From going here again,
This is all I promise...
Your grandsons would know
And hear the songs you played.
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