Here I stand the fourth year at your grave, Still trying to accept the decision fate made. I drive myself crazy for a hint or a clue, Of why at nineteen it had to take you. I would have made the choice, if I'd been given one, Take me and not my son. He had his whole life to live and enjoyed every day But obviously fate doesn't work that way, For whatever reason, it wanted you that day. And now here I stand with tears in my eyes, Everyday for four years, I can't tell you goodbye. I only say I love you and try to concentrate, To hear your voice, to feel your touch, to see your handsome face. And if I live to be a hundred I'll still ask everyday, Why didn't fate take me instead of my son away?