The reason I write to you these chosen words
Is that you left too soon, that’s what I heard.
You said for my birthday we’d take to the sky.
But you got on a bus instead, and died.
You promised to take me to far away lands,
I drew us a map, got paint on my hands.
I recall long walks across the village green.
You told me stories and taught me to dream.
The old man that boarded route forty-seven
Did he know he’d be diverted straight up to heaven?
Was grandmother waiting for you, just like you said?
Mum said she was, but I am easily led.
London has changed, its not the same without you,
The world is a scary place now, please come home soon.