Sorrow is a quiet weight,A shadow sitting by the gate.It is the heavy, silent tear,A heart that aches for what was dear. It is not anger, loud and bold,But winter’s slow and steady cold.A hollow room, a fading light,That lingers softly through the night. Yet sorrow is a human trace,Of love that kept a sacred place.For hearts can only ache and weep,Because the ties they held were deep.
