As a symbol of your precious years,
Amidst a celebration marked with tears,
Eight balloons made an ascent,
Gliding through the firmament.
The heavens enveloped balloons of white,
Each swiftly unseen, though still in flight.
But the crimson two colored the sky,
Floating distinctly, ever so high.
Much like your years on earth, though few,
They marked this world, gliding through.
Your time absorbed by heaven is veiled,
No longer seen, but life prevails.