the mourners echo

The Mourner’s Echo

In the stillness of the twilight,
Where the wind bears tales of woe,
A mourner walks with footsteps light,
Beneath the fading afterglow.

Her gown is black as midnight’s wing,
Her veil, a shroud of endless grief,
Her hands, they clutch a broken ring,
A token of a love too brief.

She treads where no one dares to roam,
Through graveyards old and weeping bare,
For in her heart, no warmth of home—
Only the chill of cold despair.

The statues, worn by time’s cruel hand,
Observe her with their sightless eyes,
And silently they understand
The sorrow hidden in her cries.

She calls a name lost to the wind,
An echo of a vanished soul,
But no reply will come again—
No answer from the shadowed toll.

Yet still she walks, from dusk till dawn,
A wraith bound by her haunted vow,
Forever seeking what is gone,
And yet, it eludes her even now.

For death, it steals what life once gave,
And buries love beneath the clay.
The mourner wanders past the grave,
A ghost in mourning, cast away.

Her tears will fall, her sighs will rise,
But in the night, no solace waits—
Just empty echoes in the skies,
As she fades into the hands of fate.