It had been fifteen years since the sun had last risen.

There had been no more smiles or water that glistened.

There had been no more picnics or long days at the beach.

There had been no more days where hope was within reach.

Others found this change hard, but not I.

For all I had to do was yell out a cry.

This cry went for my daughter, a girl with red hair.

Her eyes were brown and her skin was fair.

I let out the call for my daughter each morn,

because the last sunset happened the night she was born.