by Andria Jane Roberts
The wind rustling in my teardrops,
And my heart is breaking beneath me
Against my own will.
The smiling enemies of my heart do laugh,
And not sigh as I do in cherishable moments.
As you sit in your castle of wonder
Mine falls, crumbles and turns to dust.
Your memory causes a deep shadow on my heart
And your voice causes a tremble in my step.
Oh, piteous days of hate and sorrow,
It shall never end. Not as long
As my lonely teardrop falls,
Nearer to my fate.