Long ago,
in a far off land,
across the hills,
and past the sea,
there was a couple,
as happy as could be.
In a forest,
there they dwelt,
their love was honest,
honest as could be.
For many years,
there was no strife,
within their happy life,
happiness their only wish,
and yet that was not to be.
Disaster unforseen,
a terrible event,
tragedy had surely struck,
when upon their happy home,
Death had lain His hand,
claiming her His own.
Upon her grave,
he dug himself,
he mourned his loss,
for many days.
The clock would tick,
and hours pass,
as he sat upon the grass.
Time had trod,
time had trod,
an entire week gone by,
he was in his usual place,
weeping by her grave.
head in hands,
face masked from sky,
'twas a winter's night.
Snow began to fall,
though he little noticed,
that this was ever so.
His pain, his grief,
had blinded him,
and he was unaware of all,
except his own despair.
Hours passed,
the man now still,
he could not move,
he lay atop his loved one's grave,
there's no one left to bury him.
And so it was,
the lover's end,
now a distant memory,
but that love they bore,
it does live on,
for that husband and that wife had met again,
in another life.
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