You left the fog that took your heart from us:
We linger there within your numbers left;
To add, subtract in all to equal thus;
Your eight and twenty-four's are now bereft.
Our sorrow pleas that you could play once more!
Perhaps there's golden baskets where you are
There by your baby as you were before;
And each by turn would sparkle in a star!
The clouds conceal your form but not your praise
But take you into fame of higher realms:
A mentorship for greatness and its ways,
Yet now forgive; our sadness overwhelms:

And mourner's mourn where yours and Gigis keep
Tho' graves unmarked, let markings be our weep!