I looked out of my window for the source of the noise.
The sky was crying.
Not in anger or delight,
But in a faded hope,
For those still trudging and others who are running,
From the path of life.
A dismal site to behold,
Like a faded watercolour.
Then suddenly,
In my minds eye,
An image.
A gray heath.
Black box.
Earth landing with the resounding THUD! … Of the eternal sleep.
No music; just silent tears.
One mourning keen from one so young.
Too young.
And the sky cried.
(Just a brief shower, but to them it will last forever)
She cried for all those who go,
And all those to come.
For all,
And for one.
And for those people on that gray heath,
It was like everything stood still for a moment.
Nothing moved; nothing breathed,
Not even the wind.
But at the singular voice,
The sky’s banks flooded,
And she let her grief flow in rivers,
So that she might swaddle them, and comfort them in her presence.
That one so mighty could have fallen to their knees.
Each one her own and hers to keep.
And it was as if she knew then that I understood,
So as I smiled that weak, watery smile,
The sun rose over that heath,
And life continued.

A.E.K.G Navrilith

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/each-one-her-own-and-hers-to-keep/