Today you took a feather form your hair,
from your book an empty page,
and wrapped them together with care.
Today you gave me a stage,
so I can sing for you when I’m not there,
so I can show how much I care.
Today I’ll wite a ballad,
written with my blood,
to heal your heart malade.
Today you’ll listen to the words I sing,
wrapped together on a string,
around your fingers in a ring.
Today you’ll smile,
with tears your eyes will flood,
and from your sorrow mud,
you’ll sprout a white lotus bud.