What Sadness

What need I say of growing oldWhat gauntlet can compareTo losing all that we beholdAnd dying in despair

What sadness matches the regretWe harvest in the endWhen we are but a silhouetteIn memories of a friend

What sorrow equals that of thoseWho keenly passed awayWhat power can be found in proseTo ease the disarray

For nothing in my wisest breathCan possibly foretellThe anguish in approaching deathOr fear of my farewell