Writing words, about all of the dread
That tries to control, my confused head.
On this occasion, I'm easily led
For it is easier done, then said.

The evening tide, is not for me,
For it holds life's uncertainty.
I would rather run and fail
As I escape this earthly jail.

Oh dearest Mary
where are you now,
when I need you most?
Is your spirit here
or is it your ghost?

What can I say,
What can I do,
To return you
Back to you?