The sky doth weep for want of you, the sun dareth not to shine.
The mourning mist of morning dew dost leave tear tracks after mine.
Amidst the wilting roses which Fall hath sought to turn,
the thorn hath lost its sting and the ivy lost its burn.
The heavens doth rejoice for a precious one come home;
Alas, the pain too much to bear for loved ones still below.
Their hearts rend in twain, their eyes darkened in sorrow,
Their smiles softly turning as joy! We'll have sun on the morrow.