Specters within the Funeral Mist
Sometimes a warm memory sheds light in the dark
And eases the pain like the song of a Meadow Lark.
Then it flies away on silent wings and I’m alone;
Hungering for more of the light it had shone.
Shall grief’s bitter cold consume me,
Like a winter storm?
I’m Hungering for more of the light that it had shone…
Shall I wither and fall like an autumn leaf,
From this deep sorrow?
A deep depression that never relents