I see a lovely picture in a silver frame.

Beside it, the flickering of a candle flame.

In a vase are roses of red, white and pink.

And below them a tray of food and drink.

Outside, the rainy sky hangs dark and low.

The clouds drift along, heavy and slow.

Under those Runcorn skies, bereft of sun.

To the Buddhist Temple, people have come.

The Monks they chant and offer a prayer.

There is a feeling of sadness in the air.

Busaba is in the hearts of everyone today.

Too young and beautiful to be taken away.