I can still feel the slight warm weight
of you in the palms of my hands.
See the trusting love in your eyes
and feel your heartbeat through my soul.
More than four decades afterwards
your pressence still a part of me.

I found you neath your mothers form
lifeless yet protecting you still.
We had swept the once Cong village
among the smoldering debris.
With an acrid bittersweet stench
there you were the only one left.

Took you to French cloistered sisters
began trying to make you mine.
But that errant rocket took you
forty years later I still mourn.
The purest souls need not testing
Lin Lan of these you are counted.