I lived the best possible thirty-four:
I learnt how to fly,
And died on the land I was fighting for.
Mama, don’t cry,
Don’t say that I lost and exist no more.
You gave me this life
Not to cry for what must go,
Nor drown myself in pity.
Mama, I’m fine,
I saved my soul and sleeping city,
The holy things, the beauty,
A million homes, a million hopes,
And every tear in the stream.
It was my duty.
Mama. It was my dream.