Wearily, I walk hand in hand with sorrow
Brave intentions dealt like blows upon my brow
The sky, so open and bright, looks down on me
God's haven far removed, offered hastily
And yet I steal a breath not given and strive
For that forsaken, achingly absent life
When tears I wept were those of pleasant wonder
And not the Reaper's cruel audacious plunder
(c) ArdentTly 06.23.00