I'm going on a plane,
To Lviv Ukraine,
To where my life began,
To where I was forgotten,

To where I was picked up,
I'm going back not for a need to understand where I came from,

But to where it all ended,
To the place that I left behind,
To leave a gift,
For the gifted,

To cement the decision of my parents,
To understand what they saw in me,
To take me half across the world,
To take me home,

So as I stand in front of the door to the place where children shared nothing,
Let alone have anything to share,

I knock on the door and an old lady answrs,
A nun,
I try to speak to her in my deplorable Ukrainian,

But I stop and hand her a letter,
I turn and leave,
I'll know that she would be able to read it,
Because I had my dad write what I had wanted to say to her in Ukrainian,

I left her the address of the hotel I'm staying in,
A day later there's a knock at the door,
The nun walks in ,
I have difficulty understanding her,

But I record what she says to me,
After an hour she finishes talking and gets up to leave,
I ask her to stop,
I walk towards her and say,
Thank you in Ukrainian,
She starts tearing up as she heads out the door.