704. The bell tolls low beneath a weeping sky,

SONNET 704
By JH Sayyar
The bell tolls low beneath a weeping sky,
As silent mourners tread the path of loss
The cypress leans, the winds of sorrow sigh,
And petals fall upon the coffin's gloss.
No more shall echo voice or footstep there,
The warmth is fled, the laughter now is still.
Yet love remains—a ghost within the air,
A whisper clinging to the twilight hill
O fleeting breath! O fragile flame so brief,
Why must we walk with death beside our days?
Yet in the shroud of darkness, blooms our grief—
A rose that memory gently displays

Though earth claims what time and fate unseal,
The soul ascends, and holy love alone is real.