What, but a precious little girl,
would leave the laughter and the family,
the joyous gathering by the river,
to sit by the pianist and his melody,
to listen; to cry.
They tell her to come back with the crowd,
she refuses, with so many tears,
and says it is her grandmother she wants.
And by the black and white keys,
A little girl whose emotions,
are like droplets of dew
shining on delicate petals.
With time, her heart only grew,
and grew, and grew.
A princess she became.
What so deep in her heart,
would shake her to these tears.
What memories, what emotions,
what softness within…
She is different, unique.
And I can only imagine her like a little princess,
with so much sorrow and love.
A princess like no other.
And the unique swing,
on the very top of the one hill.
for the twig,
of the tree.
That was the dream everytime.
She fell, no twig in her hands,
but tears in her eyes.
If only time could go back,
I would tell the girl,
that she already swung so high,
and that was enough…
I would tell her to trust that in the future,
there were many twigs to come.
This stolen memory,
that took place in the only country shared between two lands..
Touched me somehow…
Only one little girl would leave to sit by the piano’s tunes,
shedding incomprehensible, delicate tears,
bursting from a deep, mysterious, beautiful heart.