River of Tears

A wreath of tears is woven on the wave,
born in sorrow and placed upon his grave.
The watery depths swept his bloom away.
His dancing petals will no longer sway.

The laughter I knew, like a lyric lyre,
is drawn to a close like a candle fire.
Suffering sorrow weeps beyond the pale
like sunken cheeks beneath his mother's veil.

Severe and smileless, Saigon has him now.
She is the lady caressing his brow.
A river of tears wraps around the bend
as my aching heart mourns upon the wind.

Woulda, coulda, shoulda, I should have known
that his heart would enter that solemn zone;
and no one was with him to see him go
beneath the deep water's treasonous tow.

She pulled him under with all of her wrath
and carried him down a virulent path.
The next day they found him along the side,
down river, down trodden, alone he died.

He went for a visit but stayed for good.
He returned to the home of his childhood.
His American father never knew
the torment and torture his son went through.

War leaves wounds that can never be healed
when it leaves behind sons whose fates are sealed.
Son without father is a man of odes,
filled with the sadness of lonely abodes.

I hope he's at peace upon his pillow.
My heart gives birth to a weeping willow.
The moonlight trembles, and my prayers end.
A river of tears wraps around the bend.

Author's Note

In memory of Dung Tien Nguyen. May he find a peace in death that he never knew in life.