In the mourning is leftover moon dew

The bustle begins as noon arises

Early chill sets while the late flowers bloom

Fervently welcome a normal crisis

Dread and desire the evening both

In the mourning once and again dawn steels

Sweet sleep is loved while spinning thoughts are loathed

Façades of apathy forged sharply real

Within following days the mourning dulls

Weeks and months and years allow milestones

Failing armory shows glimpses of souls

Alone roam those you will have never known

Finding I can better see the Lord’s grace

Than your face as more than a picture framed