When I am gone from here,
when I have drifted into the ether,
my thoughts will continue.
Long after you've forgotten how to sing,
they will be a song for your eyes.

These are my children
nurtured over breakfasting tables,
coming alive at four a.m.
uneasy in their sleep.

And you will ask:
Is this how she spent her time
behind that pensive gaze?
Was the sky really that naked?

I won't mind if you skip the daisies,
they're not your beau ideal.
I won't mind if you dig deep into their roots,
they are already dead.

Magically you will be lured into me-
Bee for my bell-flower, asking:
Is this how she spent her days,
gazing into the distance?
Planning the future,
silently moving on.