Sorrow was strolling
a chill-bitten road
humming a tune,
as he passed an abode
that was lit by a furnace;
shadows danced in the glow
that the furnace cast
upon the frosted window.
Sorrow stopped for a time
to glance at the light,
then began reminiscing
to a long-ago night:
delicate child
prancing lightly around
a rain-beaten cove,
not a tear to be found.
This child bearing joy
kicks puddles in cheer,
then sees a colorful frog
on a log that is near.
He sits by this frog
with intent in his stare,
then the frog speaks clearly
"Boy, you better beware."
Confused by the voice
that sent ripples along
the puddle he sat in,
like a prophetical song.
With a tilt to his head
the boy then replied,
"What an odd thing to say,
dear frog who is pied."
The frog was quick
to retort less than coy,
"Oh, you should understand
what is coming, dear boy:
a shadow will fall
from the blue sky above,
engulfing your sight
until it darkens your love.
It will then cast a shade
which will follow your life
through the rest of your days,
bearing continual strife."
The boy quivered his lip
and sat back with despair,
as he saw the sky gray
and felt the thickening air.
His days of laughter
and innocent play,
have been cruelly stolen
on his last childhood-day.
Suddenly the boy glanced
locking eyes with the man,
who still stood in the frost,
who was glancing again
at the house which shown shadows
of delight once before,
now sits darkened and frowning
with a dilapidated door.
Sorrow now covered
in crystalized thought,
brushes icicles away
of intricate wrought.
He returns to his travel
on that chill-bitten road,
humming a tune saying,
"Goodbye, sweet abode."
