The tragic air of someone
you love,
Expels the fiery and watery
deaths,
And instead attracts a much
simpler end.

Missing the first light
night of summer.
The birds never fed decide to go
someplace else.
Left alone in the last snowfall of my
first year.

No more early mornings where
we don’t even see each other,
And when we swapped positions for the
goodnight,
It marked the beginning of
the end.

I know this may sound sombre but it’s
precious.
You’ll leave behind so much, if only the
other life would
allow your possessions.
The books most of all, I don’t know how
but I shall get
through them in my first year.