Fourteen
It was summer,
the birds sang.
I was in my room,
when the dreadful phone rang.
It was summer,
when I was told.
My grandma's brother passed away,
I tried to act bold.
It was summer,
when I broke down and cried.
On the 29th of July,
the struggling man died.
It was summer,
and my sun didn't shine.
His heart stopped beating,
and in the process broke mine.
It was summer,
when tears fell like rain.
Now it's winter,
and I'm still dealing with the pain.
It was summer,
I was fourteen.
Night came as sudden as death,
and went unseen.
It was summer,
the birds no longer sing.
Their melodies have been going unheard,
ever since that dreadful ring.