Ong Noi

I was six and I remember his name. From that day on, it'd never be the same. Ong Noi, Vietnamse for my dear Grandpa. Pale face, eyes rolled back, was the last I saw. Hack, hack, hack, open the door, my calls. Nothing will bring you back. Our family falls. How lost I am; Father cries, mothers weep, All the wounded red scars are oh so deep. Why the beep machines? They did not make you. Why the prayers? We had did bid aideu.