Open my eyes and the darkness stayed.

Look to my side where he had laid.

Emptiness and absence lays instead.

Drifting questions running amuck through my head.

Rise up and look, beginning to walk.

Silence lingers, no chirp nor talk.

Peer around the tree, over the bend.

A letter to be found, never that will send.

Of old and yellow? No, instead of new white,

To which darkened ink draws itself tight.

One solemnly written name holding such sorrow.

A name it reads, a name given not borrowed.

A letter was seen, this letter was touched,

Of what has been, but not that of much.

Of which it does fade, dark and dim,

The sole name of mine stands bold in black: "Tim"