She dances within thy brain rent free,

  as I wallow and mope in her absence.

  The pain makes me feel as old as a tree,

  yet still I can smell her sweet fragrance.

  Years may pass but it never fades away,

  the feeling of having her heart near thine.

  I try to stay strong, keep feelings at bay,

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  allowing good things in thy life to shine.

  I cry as the memory of her fades, and then

  the darkness comes to consume what’s left.

  These things are considered weak of men,

  a careless thought created only by the deft.

  It’s not weak to mourn when someone is lost,

  as it takes effort for hearts not to turn to frost.