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.