It's always an insignificant entrance, always quiet, always gloomy, the trees sad like always.
We finally meet with family, everyone now holding hands.
Birds whistle, fitting the scene somehow knowing we're sad.
My sister wondering why we're all dull, stay obedient, not a peep from anyone.
We all maintain a quiet voice, being considerate of our bitter well-being.

"It's like saying goodbye the first time we parted," my heart breaks realising the sun's telling us it's time to leave.
Saying goodbye we weep.

"Bye, dad."