Meadow Ghosts

Beneath the pale, relentless noon
Where light wears thin and weak
The meadow lies, a muted tune
And shadows softly speak

The grasses bow, as though to mourn
In whispers low and slight
For all that once by day was borne
Now flees the pressing light

There, sorrow drapes the autumn bough
With unseen burdens weighed
And silence fills the hollowed vow  
That daylight scarce has made

The air grows damp with old regret
A grief that time has grown
And though no shade nor form be met
One does not walk alone