The drive to the house on the hill,
The drives the rivers.
The walks we took to The Old Mill,
Memories of him, beginning to wither.
It will never be the same.

Her heart ached to hear his voice,
She had missed the loud guffaw.
The tears she cried weren't her choice,
But its better to have loved than not at all.
It will never be the same.

Christmas, birthdays, holidays,
Everything still hurts.
Births, marriages, deathdays,
It will always stay and lurk.
It will never be the same.