Dying Young

Before I could make her mine,
She was claimed by the earth, years too soon.
My little girl, my beloved child
There's no romance in dying young.

This year when autumn spreads its hues
There will be one red leaf too few.
Broken by the wind from her mother tree
She has flown away with the breeze.

Now morning calls my name again.
One happy face less I see.
One drowsy voice I no longer hear
One sleepy head never rears itself.

She now sleeps alone, without me.