You Poem by poppy miller

In the low light of evening
Across the desolate moor
I hear your voice calling
Though I see you no more

Your call is so sad, so light,
My gnawing grief transparent;
My melancholy full of you this night,
My misery apparent

As I recall the night of your departure.
It was the saddest hour I've ever known
Before death sent his finest archer
And my soul to view itself alone

Over your cradled hands I wept,
Imploring, begging a reprieve;
But the long, long sleep you kept,
Biding time to leave.

How threadbare now the language of our joy
How meagre were your days;
Yet - how full of gaity you did employ
And all around sang your praise.

How little we needed from life
For we had love - you and I
Our hearts cheerfully finding joy
In the slightest thing that came by.

But now, in this incinerating age of ashes
Where cackling ravens soar
Where tears alone are glad to go on flowing
I battle my lonely war.

So here, I tread the desolate moor
While the heavens silently observe
The earth, sleeping behind closed door;
Waiting on a morrow that may not serve.

Oh Lord, by any means you would employ,
Grant me an audience with my heart's joy.