Your sun has set, and I was not prepared.
Your light, hard shuttered, gone missing from my path
Reveals no more the places you would show.
Your warmth reduced to memory, mere hint of what it was
While yet it burned.
The moon has tried its best, through faint remembrance
Offered up through gentle darkness by the night.
Scarce real enough that shadows come to pass,
It warms me not, nor lets me see what walks outside my walls.