Papa could’ve been another type of man
Like a raindrop could be caught in a hand
Let another letter slip through the mail
Gone again gone again as heat prevails.
“A little gone,” says the better man
Couldn’t you have just set it right: a plan
I said goodbye into a dusty pan
Held it close as I looked inside.
When the needles dropped upon the forest floor
Little birds gathered all around
Snowdrops sprouted into the sky
And the trail twisted on.