Haunted Mourning
Morning creeps in behind the trees and there she stands.
Alone...still...among those she loved, that have gone on before her.
Head bowed, fingers tightly clutching a wreath of laurels.
Emptiness washes over her in waves of gloomy gray.
Nothing disrupts her stony gaze,
Not even the band of chortling squirrels
playing about her feet.
Is there poetry in sadness,
Wishing to be stricken with tears
When no tears will come?
Only her crushing lonliness is stronger.
Only her crushing lonliness is stronger.
This is beautiful, Lola!
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