Birds sing a somber song,

air is filled with hollow words,

the sun shines not so bright.

As mountains melt, a stream is forged

from son and daughter

and wife.

Clouds above that hang in wait

unleash their strength

and forge the river ever wide.

Steeped in the oak there remains

those of a life that held the reigns.

At last!  The brighter rays break through

the clouds, the trees, the pastel hues.

The rain, it slows,

the river dries,

its course already laid.