Old portraits hang still,
In your lonely room; Your body is gone
With charm that you had once!
My lap is deserted with nobody
To play there, nobody to jump,
And nobody to touch my cheeks
With little tender hands…
What have you done to me?
Will you come back and explain? Alas! I know, you will never,
My child, you have gone too far!
If I ever, in life, get a chance,
For sure, I will turn back this time—
To those days when you laughed and played, When you talked for hours and hours!
Obscured hour, glum moment is this— Now I have to bury you, here; And see this inert body…
Once I gave birth to the same!
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