The cake - white vanilla on ice,
Soft, mushy, icy cold with honey,
Laid on a wooden round table,
Satin embroidered cloth laid all over.
'Happy Birthday Hanna' - said the label.
Mum lit the magic candle,
All gathered around in the crowd,
Little Hanna filled her cheek,
Made a wish to see dear dad,
And pfufffffff.....she blew.
Far away on the battlefield,
Hanna's dad was looking at the moon.
'Happy Birthday Hanna',
in his heart he wished,
And for some reason,
the moonlight extinguished.
At the precise moment,
a bullet pierced through his heart,
And Hanna's wish came together,
Dad was standing in front of her.
As Hanna sliced the knife through the cake,
Dad's white shirt turned red.
And through each crack on his shirt,
Little by little, the light escaped.
Happy Birthday, Hanna!