Anger grows within my eyes.
As I watch her grow sick and die.
I do all I can to bring her back
But I feel my efforts going slack.
Half of me says she is gone.
But the other half keeps going on.
It will not let up or give a break.
So even if they did ordain her to be dead and gone.
That half of me would go on.
It would make me make her proud.
Even beneath that old black shroud.
That is draped around her head and neck.
So if she died I would be a wreck.
But I would make her proud.
While she sits and watches from a cloud.
If she died my heart would be a stone.
To have and to hold, all for her own.
So when I see her I do not weep.
Or late at night do I lose sleep.
Because I know she will always be.
Held alive inside a part of me.
