I walk at night and feel the chill of dark.
It wraps its sneaky tendrils 'round my feet,
Entwining pain and sorrow through my heart.
Despair descends, and thoughts of joy retreat.

This nightly ritual curses now my soul.
I never pray that lonliness will pass.
My heart, in your loss, now a vacant hole
Gazing through the base of an empty glass.

In finding that my troubles never end,
I found that what you asked was hard to do.
To be your lover, then become your freind,
Was difficult, with so much love for you.

So may your days be long, your troubles short.
May the gods smile down upon your new life.
But don't forget me dear, as I report,
For in death I now dwell, finished with strife.

Penned by my hand on the 4th of Miraman, in the year 423 AF.