Soft and familiar sorrow
but narrated, by me, this time in the third person.
I, the narrator, in this case, feeling by proxy
the sorrow that my love feels now.
A loss he wasn't ready for,
has never endured before,
he cries, and then so I.

And yet there is love.

( Isn't that life?
At the end of every story of sorrow, you
could punctuate with that and it'd be true. )

Oh, how he handles these things, so much love
so much grace.
Even as sadness rolls down his face,
his mind still fixed on things above