This day is the last
A mourner’s bequest
Imprisoned within hell’s fire
In the bosom of her chest
Her heart starts yearning
For the pain of grief
For what loss has inflicted
Is sorrow’s only relief
Music becomes a shadow
Enhancing her despair
For the body aches with anguish
Knowing he is no longer there
Her heavy soul is burdened
With unfortunate disguise
A mask upon her sadness
Around her tortured eyes
There’s a photograph upon a shrine
That leaves no trace of life
But holds the memory of a warmth
Then plunges like a knife
Grief shall hold no mercy
Though it be heaven sent
It draws the phantoms from the blood
With unbearable lament
The funeral has been cast aside
He is gone now from her eyes
But still in others she sees him
Only time will fade these lies
The ocean’s swell shall never cease
And seeds die as they have grown
And one day she’ll smile and tell stories
Of this man she once had known
By Allan Buchan
The Bugle 