Fore In The Mourning Poem by Steven Rodgers

It's four, four in the morning,
Three from seven so far,
Two thoughts challenge my scorning,
One brilliant falling star. 
Why is the star still burning,
What fuels this this renegade dove,
When stomach's bent on churning,
The essence of that from above. 

At four, four in the morning,
We have come so far,
When three, three are in waning,
From one bright shining star. 
Though two, two will be yearning,
For their arms and hearts to hold,
And I, I will be mourning,
In the deepest depths of cold. 

At four, four in the morning,
We have come so far.