In the wardrobe hangs a dress of black,
A silent keeper of memories back.
It whispers tales of sorrowed years,
Absorbing countless mournful tears.

Worn for those who now have gone,
It sees the dawn, but never dawns.
A shroud of grief, it wraps around,
Each step a solemn, muted sound.

It waits in shadows, still and deep,
A witness to the ones who weep.
A thread of life, a thread of death,
A final garment for their rest.

Its fabric, soft, like whispered sighs,
Reflects the pain in tearful eyes.
Each seam, each stitch, each woven thread,
A testament to words unsaid.

Yet in its dark, a strength it shows,
A silent comfort through our woes.
It holds the weight of heavy hearts,
As loved ones, from this world, depart.

This black dress bears the marks of time,
A poignant part of sorrow’s rhyme.
It speaks of loss, but also grace,
A gentle, dignified embrace.

So, when we gather, dressed in black,
To bid farewell, to not look back,
The dress reminds us, though we part,
Their memory lives within our heart.

A Poem by Siân Williams
@satnamtherapy
Images: Sasha Freemind / Luke Braswell (Unsplash)