Every year I come to the cemetery,
Our journals of love , I do carry.
Three years have passed since my lover's death,
With her own , she took my breath,
Shadows around me move on their own .
I see a face made of sacred stone .
My darling angel, where are you now?
Staring at me is the jilted moon,
Who never had her over which to swoon.
Six centuries shared turned into six feet,
The wholeness once felt has become incomplete.
I hang my head to weep at our separation,
To fully experience what is now desperation.
As I hang my head, I do not know why,
But I feel eyes staring at me as I cry.
When will the season of winter pass from my heart?
And I know , it is when we are no longer apart.