• As if the day died with his lover,
    The sun lay dormant beneath a black veil,
    And the sky wept, as he wished he could.

    Tears hath not fallen from his ducts,
    But his insides trembled still,
    Like a lost child in the cold,
    On a silent night.

    He carried, in his arms,
    The vacant vessel in which once held his soul's counterpart.

    Outside their door were fields barren.
    But mud and and bare tree,
    And he sought out, not far from which he stood,

    The spot in which he planned to ask for her hand.

    He watched her delicate face, ghostly with death,
    As he shielded it from the rain.

    His heart wrenched,
    As he looked at her,
    As he thought of his own life,
    Barren as his fields
    Hath become.

    He brought his gaze skyward,
    And the heavy droplets that would fall upon his tortured countenance,
    Turned to warmth on a different day.

    Lifting his knees out of the dirt,
    He said his hello to the stone slab in the Earth,
    And walked back his dry fields,
    From which he carried her over,

    This day last year.