The Season of My Loss
Though my eyes are lifted to the vacuum of blue skies, memories of you float gentle upon the whispering breeze, calling to memory gray skies and pain.
For though the heavens bright, dust of smoldering ash yet stain my feet in grim remind.... us no more to be..... thus blotting hope of sun’s radiant joy from my world as I remain cast in this, the season of my loss.
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