Heart in place on the sleeve
                 No one asks if the man grieve
Walking eyes downcast, quickens pace  
    Leave not the days dust, on your face

             A voice echoes in his hollow head
The only rumbling, stomach hollow unfed
She always said, "sleeping or waking, lave"  
           Leave not the days dust, on your face

                        She left not wanting to leave
                                  Her loss tore his belief
Spectres tease as he walks and does chase
        Leave not the days dust, on your face

he knew she would not like his grief
the joy like dust washed from his face