Forgotten Song

The nearest little song I wrote,

upon it's hanging crippled note.

Nothing there to hold it back,

No show of grace, everything I lack.

But dearest day I cannot say

what is it that I broke...

And the fairest maids do decay

what is it I had wrote?

Falling from my empty mouth

Like a spout my words fall out,

Emptying my lonely being of all my wicked thoughts.

Now, my deepest religion has been sought.

Through prayer, I beacon for peaceful rest,

I hold my prayer to my chest,

no reply, no simple lies,

but now I am dead and have died.

The last thing I question is why, the peaceful rest there I lie.