| |
In the chilling zephyr of the morn,
In the blood of the new born,
In the stillness of the night,
In lost memories of my sight
I can feel you.
In the emptiness of my house,
In the form of my spouse,
In the unkindness of your absence,
In the aura of your reminiscence
I can feel you.
In the harsh reality of your death,
In the fragrance of your wreath,
In the mourning lullaby,
In the endless despair’s cry,
I can feel you
|
|
