by: Mercedes Tyre
It's cold out here, in this sad lonely place,
Where rivers are frozen from winter's breath.
I shelter myself from her cruel embrace;
She appears bearing no gifts, only death.
The dark of night makes me afraid to feel,
As cold winds blowing cause a biting chill.
This harsh reality doesn't seem real;
And I fear it will be a bitter pill.
I don't want to swallow this painful truth;
With its ability to crush my heart,
And strip the innocence from but a youth.
I am not ready for you to depart.
And now to think you've left this earthly place;
No more will I lay eyes upon your face.