She dances within thy brain rent free,

as I wallow and mope in her absence.

The pain makes me feel as old as a tree,

yet still I can smell her sweet fragrance.

Years may pass but it never fades away,

the feeling of having her heart near thine.

I try to stay strong, keep feelings at bay,

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allowing good things in thy life to shine.

I cry as the memory of her fades, and then

the darkness comes to consume what’s left.

These things are considered weak of men,

a careless thought created only by the deft.

It’s not weak to mourn when someone is lost,

as it takes effort for hearts not to turn to frost.