Dew Upon the Grass

Every morning the dew is upon the grass
The birds up so early, while she still sleeps fast
Maybe today I’ll get my answer, to that question no one wants to ask
Days getting kindred as if same as the last

I sit down as if to dine, but only to glance at the empty chair
Someone special used to fill, but now there’s no one there
A single tear towards the sky; can these days ever be the same?
My only half is gone, but her memories remain

Few do I laugh, and when is with much sorrow
I can’t decide if I’m living with yesterday or dwell with tomorrow
With so much catching up to do, I remain left behind
When time is without time then shall our love be refined
I mourn for that clock we reunite at last
Until then, every morning the dew is upon the grass


© Curtis Roote
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED