In the burned house I am eating breakfast.

Grief, my old haunting friend, you slip through the door,A shadow that clings to the heart's weathered floor.Sadness, your sister, trails softly in your wake,A whisper of sorrow, a sigh for love's sake. You settle like dust in the cracks of my days,Grief, with your memories, sharp in their haze.You carve out my chest, where old laughter once bloomed,