Dew has gathered on the flowers he left yesterday
His eyes glanced at her epitaph
The one he wrote the day she lay down to sleep for eternity.
The tears glistened in his eyes
Dusk has came and he has lost count of the days gone by.
With a limp in his gait,
The old man walked into the shadows of the willow trees.
Alone he walks home now,
The willow trees grazing his head,
Stooped in an eternal bow.
The old man stops and catches his breath,
And gazes at the evening star.
In his empty house,
He sits and waits for another night to pass.
The house which was once filled with laughters,
Is all but silent now.
The silence so deafening,
That his ear aches
And his old heart bleeds.
He had once been a lover, a husband, and a father,
But who is he now?
Who is he but a grieved man,
Hoping for nothing more,
Than a beautiful dream,
That will bring her back to him,
If only in that stolen sleep,
If only for one mirthful night.
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