grief-stricken

O grief why would you
walk with me? Even when 
I am filled with jubilance,
why would you pick on me?

Woebegone to be a part of your
world. Yet, with each stroke of
glory, though I relish success,
withal in the middle of a
thunderous applaud, in the
background, I hear your
doleful whistle.

A golden garden with singing birds,
lovers meeting with an open heart,
your tune hums a pensive song,
a certain whisper of your stretch,
a whimper, the world will fall apart.