A pan, a teapot and a phone,
A knife, a pencil and a stone:
I’ll look again and see a note,
A piece of paper I’ve forgotten.
You haven’t written since she died.
I haven’t heard of you. I’m tired.
Nobody knows how I tried
To give her things that she desired.
I liked to sing her funny songs,
To tell her stories, fairy-tales…
We went to hospital through fogs.
She didn’t like to stand on scales.
She didn’t like to be alone,
She didn’t like to think of troubles.
Remember her humorous tone.
But don’t. It’s better. Pain doubles.
She’ll never be with us again.
You’ll never see her, smiling child.
But try to catch the earliest train.
These Christmas days are really mild.