Bereft am I, in solitude's embrace,
A wretch forlorn, devoid of mirth and grace.
My heart, a thurible, unlit,
Craves thy presence, once a candlewick.

In bygone days, ere thy departure hence,
We twain would frolic in love's sweet pretense.
Now absence is a specter, pale and grim,
A moonless night, my world grown dim.

Alas, the gloaming shadows creep,
And in their grasp, I find no sleep.
Forlorn am I, a flower of rue,
In this vale of tears, sans thee, my love, adieu.


© poembyselly