Anguish, sorrow filing my soul
as thou rests in thy tiny hole.
Listen! Listen to the quiet.
In my pain, on thee I was reliant.
Thou wast the meaning to me going on.
To thee, I always found myself drawn.
Nothing can replace the void
thou left, shaping me paranoid.
Cold! Bitterness in swirls!
Thy life more treasured than pearls.
Let this icicle soften thy grave
as nothing more could thou have gave.
Thy picture in my mind be retained.
Always, thou art sustained.
Gifts to the world thou hast presented,
this trial to me unprecedented.
Still, my life proceeds.
Thoust continuing to remove my weeds.
Icicles, thy grave to reform.
Icicles! Icicles! Ironically: warm.