A heavy gloom hangs o’er our silent hall,
Where winter’s chill has settled in the bone;
I let my foolish pride build up a wall,
And turned our tender haven into stone.
Behold, I bow my head in deep remorse,
For spoken words that cut you like a knife;
I wish to stop this anger’s cruel course,
And bring back joy into our weary life.
What worth is winning if I lose my heart?
I lay my armor down upon the floor;
Let not this shadow keep us far apart,
But let love triumph as it did before.
Accept these words, a poor and humble plea,
To mend the fabric that my rage had torn;
Come, break this glass and set the spirit free,
Until the darkness yields to golden morn.
True affection is proved not in the ease of peace, but in the humility of reconciliation. May these stanzas serve as the olive branch that restores your harmony.
