Another Mourning

The shifting sands lie heavily, across the eternal spring.
The river, much traveled, has run its course
and is lost to the mighty ocean.
The dawn, gives rise to memories and...yes, the birds still sing.
There is life, although it seems somewhat forced
and some words, still cannot be spoken.

The well - that was taken for granted - has suddenly gone dry;
we stand with our pails and draw echo's,
up from the darkness beneath our feet.
With a childish wistfulness, we gently wipe each others' eye;
salty prisms, fall like hammer blows
as, heads bowed, we accept our defeat.