Gyda, I have come to say goodbye to you properly.
I have been thinking about you, about when you were small. You could run as swiftly as the wind. You were like quick-silver. But then, before I knew it, you stopped running here and there and everywhere, and you became still.
At 12-years-old, you had the stillnessand the calm of a fine woman. What children you would have produced! What joy that would have brought to all of us.
Dear child, Gyda. You are not gone because you are always in my heart.
They say that a man must love his sons more, but a man can be jealous of his sons, and his daughter can always be the light in his life.
I know very well that you are with the Gods. But I will wait here awhile. And if you want to comeand talk to me, then come and talk, and I will gently stroke your long and beautiful hair once again with my peasant hands.