Like the running stallion,

She dashes across the plains,

Free as a bird,

Strong as the blowing wind.

 

Like the roaring lion,

She is unconquerable,

Her grace is like a crane’s,

Her hair fine as grass blades.

 

Like the reddest rose,

Her dress flows around her little body,

Her beauty shines brighter than Aphrodite’s,

Her curls as golden as the sun.

 

She runs free,

Her pain is gone.

She has the youngest of deaths,

But the brightest of futures.

 

She flies across the plains,

As the angel she sees

In front of her,

The mirror of her pretty face.

 

She reaches her little hand,

Into the bright blue sky,

Fitting her fingers

Into the hands of her guardian.

 

She is lifted up,

As she holds on,

Her tiny feet leave the ground,

For the very last time.

 

She says goodbye to the world,

As she gazes at the gates of heaven,

The smile on her pretty face,

Is everlasting,

And will never fade.