The wind takes off with a piece of my heart,
Its breath is cold, chilling as we grow further apart.
Still i do not miss the broken piece it stole,
For how can i when it was as dark as sheer coal.
And who's fault is it for its dreary state,
None other than my tragic fate.
Alone i now waste my time in grief,
For when it appears it is not brief.
Each day i await the moment when the sun does shine,
Who's life is this, none other than mine.