What Sadness

What need I say of growing old
What gauntlet can compare
To losing all that we behold
And dying in despair

What sadness matches the regret
We harvest in the end
When we are but a silhouette
In memories of a friend

What sorrow equals that of those
Who keenly passed away
What power can be found in prose
To ease the disarray

For nothing in my wisest breath
Can possibly foretell
The anguish in approaching death
Or fear of my farewell