I tell my son that no one knows.
But mom, what happens when we die?
Do we come back? Where do we go?
I tell my son that no one knows.
But when I die, I say, I’ll show
up everywhere you are. But why?
I tell my son that no one knows.
what happens when we die.
*this poem is an old French form, the triolet … um, I think I’ll come back to edit this one.