Even so far away from this ocean blue,

I found it hard to forget you.

The butterflies bring your letters to my home,

difficult would it be to leave them alone.

So I pored over every from your hand,

your every word a rarity to the homeland.

In response, letters I do not write;

instead, I sing by the morning light.

My songs carried by the zephyr

beckon your return to this lovely azure.