Mourning Morning

A poem about the realization of a lost lover

Standing in the morning dew,
Praying it not came over you.
Your face seems sickly sour,
Your person has no power,
Has been this way an hour.
Your heart not beating, only silence;
Not even breathing with violence.
Though these are merely hints,
Know where goes my reference.
Why must it be you!
It doesn't seem seemingly true,
Oh! What did this morning do!