Like an old friend one would rather forget,
It passes by and stops me in my tracks,
Out of respect I do not move,
For the procession in black.

And like a phrase that stirs a memory,
I remember sunny, never rainy, days,
When I bowed my head and cried,
Underneath the willow's shade.

And how I felt I would never be whole again,
And how I gave so many pieces to,
The lush and green grass,
And the sky that was blue.