You will not die, my father, you will live.
My mother, she has gone, my sister too.
But they, like you, were never mine to keep...
I now am far, although I would be near.
What's happened in the past, we can't reverse...
By worldly shackles, I am now constrained.
But live, dear father, live -- and see again,
Although the pain of loss may be acute,
And that of living too you do endure,
The story is not done.
And I would wait
And so might you, if fortune so permits,
So we can meet again -- and be, perhaps,
A father with his son again...
And if, perchance, our meeting be delayed,
Then live -- for those who've given you their love,
And find the strength to walk -- and work again...
And if, by fortune's hand, you take your leave
Or I, before we ever meet again,
Then know that you were loved -- and that you gave
Not knowing it, perhaps, what gives me now
And others, sustenance...
We are but two among the multitude,
And all that we have suffered, others have
And others will, as is the mortal lot...
And yet, we weep at prospect of our loss
And at the losses that we each endure.
So weeps the world -- and yet it smiles again,
And so it was before we trod this Earth,
As it will be when we are memories...
But live, my father, live, for you have yet
So much that's left -- do live, for better days...
The ones who tend you now, the ones afar,
Beseech you that you live -- and rise again.