I Miss Your Trouble

Not long have you been gone,
That you, I start to miss,
Your laughter your shout All these my part became,
This, knew not I, until long you were be gone,
You're yelling and Shout the Wailing those laughter,
Though killing to my pensive soul they were,
Now that I hear them not, my soul a little dose of them desires.
Your carefree attitude; that the world is made of rock,
Rough rider you are; this A puzzle to my silent soul.
But I see you riding the matador.
The roaring storm you wade, the highest mountain
you scale.