That was me, before I knew your name.
The pictures that you gave me
of the time when I was three
reminded me of your paintings.
The ones of pretty flowers
in the holes the bombs made.
When your paintings chipped and faded
with all their glory and beauty
you said
Have a good morrow.
Don't let the rain make you think you're wet.
There's no need to drowned in sorrow.
The sun is always shining
above the clouds and I don't care
where they bury me.
That was me but you're not the same.
Seasoned by weather, time and by the sea.
Now you free and not in pain.
I think of you of course it's really not the same.
Though I miss you I know I will follow.
the kiss I kissed you speaks the words
that I can't say. What you'd say.