I exist as the moisture of sorrow, suspended in the cloud of despair, waiting to condense and fall, as drops of rain from the sky.
One day soon, I shall moisten the seeds of your essence, washing away the dust of mourning, letting the roots of remembrance take hold in my heart.
Eternal in bloom, your spirit shall always point towards the rays of the sun, kindling flames of inspiration to help overcome dark moments in my day.
Upon the horizon, ride whispers in the wind, a chorus of ambivalent sadness, for the albatross of despondency has fallen prey to the shadow of the angel.