''It's all right'' is all he could say,
your poor father, as he heard you had died.
''He's better off to have died here today''.
Couldn't hide his tears, though he tried and tried.

He took your body, so peaceful, asleep.
In his strong arms which held you many times before.
And hugged and kissed you trying to keep,
from upsetting me though it cut to the core.

Then he placed you so gently on the pillow so white.
As he said once again ''it'll be all right''.
Nobody knows his heart was broken.
Hardly a word by him was spoken.

He carried you, buried you, said a last good bye.
To a son he had hopes for, he saw you a man.
Then out of his hands and his hopes did you fly,
And changed everything and altered his plan.

And now every day he mentions your name,
and smiles at your cute little baby ways.
He knows nothing will ever be the same.
But the name Yaseen on his lips ever stayes.
As he prays and prays and prays.