Here, here, very much here,
I heard that in this ear,
Though none is seen near,
It can be no one but you.

I heard you when a child,
I heard you when growing;
I heard you in day, night;
It can be no one but you.

You came as if a whisper,
In the form of quiet air;
You entered through mind;
It can be no one but you.

O poem, baby, don’t forget,
After all, I am your poet.
Take all shapes you like,
I will know you, my child.