There was a still image,
That displayed sorrowful and downcast.
It always came at morning,
And left as soon as shadows past.
Not a perfect face,
Or a fair complexion.
Just a solemn silhouette,
A light apparition.
No voice behind the scene,
No words could 'ere be heard.
No laughter or faint melody,
That left this soul stirred.
I'm looking at you,
And you are looking back at me.
What's present is all unspoken,
Just a glimpse of misery.

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