• When darkness turns to grey,
    Dawn is on her way.
    Rosy fingers touch the sky.
    The birds begin to sing.

    Lying in fretful wakefulness,
    I fight a battle with faithfulness.
    Troubles swarm in my head,
    The day has barely begun.

    Feet swing over to touch cold floor,
    While inside I wage a war.
    Melodies pass through the curtain,
    Doing nothing to lessen the greif.

    Her life so short, her breath so brief,
    All we wanted was to keep,
    Her here with us in this city.
    But she left for a garden.

    Her means of travel was simple,
    Brutally so and quite painful.
    The pills sitting there on the counter,
    All that stop me from leaving too.

    When grey dawn turns to gold,
    I remember times of old.
    I whisper words for her to hear,
    As I go about my life.