All night the clock ticked, and outside a moon like day,
And I, in the ravages of sleep, head on a stranger's breast,
Shed tears, like a task not to be put away....
In the false moon light, overwhelming grief in my happy bed,
An ocean of tears, set to undo joy's rebirth.
I would not wake at your word, I had only tears to say.
I clung to the dream and they were my soul,
And let pain's derisive hand had give me rest
From the night of living flame, and the darkness within.
We do not get over grief.
But over time, we do learn to live with the loss.
We learn to live a different life...with our loss...
Steve ’Easy’ Whitacre, November, 2005