A. Luthier

Grief is a fountain—
          	‎Sometimes there is no water,
          	‎Other times, it's literally overflowing—
          	‎Everyday there are tiny sparkles at the bottom—
          	‎Coins I've spent on wishing you would reach for me again—
          	‎And yes, grief is a fountain—
          	‎Its waters know no borders,
          	‎Other times it is overflowing—
          	‎And I wish you would drain it,
          	‎But I know that—
          	No flood or drought would ever make you
          	‎Come back.
          	
          	- excerpt, A. L.