The Empty Place

The rains have stopped, the day is nigh,

The dawn’s already here.

I face another day with hope

Though my eye holds a tear.

For though I know that I can do

What is required of me,

I cannot seem to do it, yet,

Without some misery.

There’s still a sorrow in my heart,

An empty place unfilled.

A question, tingeing on self pity,

That cannot quite be stilled.

Why me, when I have loved you well,

Why am I made for pain?

Why am I called to suffer so?

Then I recall again

The one who loved you more than I,

Who served you all his life,

And yet his death was harder than

His life of work and strife.

He loved you well, and you loved him.

Yet still he suffered too.

Where selfishly I think of me,

He only thought of you

And of the souls that would be blessed

By that life which he lost.

He was willing to pay the price,

While I quake at the cost.

So I will rise to face the day

And wipe away my tears,

That empty place will not be filled,

With vane self pity’s fears.