The thing which we call beauty can fade in the evening light,
Or forever remain in our mind's eye but only as memory.
Yes, hers was an ephemereal beauty, like a fairy, and
A voice as an angel descended from heavenly realm.
So earth will miss this angel, but her voice will still remain,
Forever and indelibly tatooed in our beating hearts.
So, Whitney, rest in peace, for all I can give to you,
Darling of America, are these broken lines of syntax.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem