We were so small, still
                  In the first grade.
                  It's so hard to remember that
                  time, but there is a snapshot,
                  you and I standing
                  in the branches of the
                  great tree in your backyard.
                  Before your father took the
                  picture, you pinned the blue
                  ribbon on my shirt that
                  you had won at school, and
                  we were best friends.

                  The first, I will always
                  remember you as the
                  first friend I had.
                  When I moved, I nervously
                  telephoned, those memories
                  blurred as if I had live
                  my whole childhood asleep.
 

                  Others have always gone
                  with questions, with sacrafice,
                  Marie, you will always be
                  the same one, with lank
                  blonde hair, that I hope
                  will come again with blue
                  ribbon. One year I went back
                  to the grade school playground,
                  climbed up on top of the giant
                  tires there, arranged in a tunnel
                  for the children, and I thought
                  of how many times we must
                  have climbed on top of the
                  playground tower
                  and wished to be one of the big kids.

                  After the years with you,
                  there was no more home for me.
                  Only chasing every breeze,
                  wondering what happened to Marie.