Fifteen and fifty; life’s two equinox:
Blossoms and harvest time; His building blocks.
Child of fifteen Aprils; cut down in spring:
Both gleaned from above; too soon reckoning.
No more shall I frolic with sweet playmates,
Left to my own; cruel reaper’s barred the gate.
Distant strings she vibrates, boards he walks on,
Ever in our hearts memories live on.
Bow to the performers who’ve left the stage,
Our need for you never to be assuaged.