Mourning
Mourning is an eerie thing,
Not always tied to death.
It may celebrate or sing,
May widen eyes or lighten breath,
May bring unexpected things.
Sometimes it is a wayward thief,
That steals among the tombs;
It can alter feelings, and twist beliefs,
Searching for less bitter rooms,
Yet it brings a strange relief.
The heart may not know it,
Nor the mind accept it,
But it may be for the best.
As it guides the sorrowful away from grief,
To a long and healing rest.
Re-reading this, I was reminded of some of the riddles in JRR Tolkien'ts "The Hobbit". I'm fairly sure these were based on the word-play of either Anglo-Saxon speech or Middle English, that Tolkien knew so well. Perhaps I worked some of this in unknowingly?