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Upon My Master's Grave
March 27, 2014
Alone:
We could be anywhere and everywhere,
There were no boundaries to be seen,
My eternal servitude of smiles,
The graces of our gaiety.
The weeping of the rain,
As if our pain was its very own,
The howling of the wind,
Like our sorrows being put into song.
Alone:
When he had no hope,
I was his family.
When I was tired and ill,
He was my medic.
In his bed with me by his side,
Not a sound or motion he made.
Alone:
Now upon his headstone cold,
His name and years are standing,
And I, upon his grave.
© Anonymous
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