As we lay to rest the last of your dreams.

We pray that eternal sleep will quiet your screams.

I sometimes wonder if it's really true,

that the stars hold your presence

In their cold, moonlit hue.

I can see your face as the wind whips past,

And remember your face as if it were etched in glass.

I sometimes wonder what the future holds,

But I guess it's a story better left to unfold.

I can sit here and number away the questions of why.

But some how, I guess, you were just destined to die.