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By a grave in the forest, in the middle of the night

lies a rose to the left, and a letter to the right.

The flower's dead and wilted, the envelope is blank,

left by a lover who had come a day too late.

Storm clouds are lingering to wash away the words, 

ambitions buried 'neath the ground, lost upon this world.

Some may come and bless the boy, some may curse and blame,

but they know not his hopes and dreams, lost beneath the rain.

Secrets, shared with only one; promises have waned.

While death may have a purpose, his future died in vain.