The flowers droop their weary heads,
Their lilt has lost all meaning;
Wilting, wind-swept in their beds,
I hear their silent keening...
The stoic trees stand strangely still
Bent and burdened with dark care;
And then accepting heaven's will,
they bow gently as in prayer...
The birds have lost their joyful song,
Their sad bewildered silence screams;
And in the dawn seems to prolong,
the terror of night's anguished dreams.
Even the skies are misty eyed,
Because you've gone, you left...and died.
RIP my darling brother...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem