Mourning Man

A widower sits and gapes,
Across the room to that golden frame.
It surrounds an image, black and white,
Of a couple in the prime of their shared name.
To him it mocks “She would still be alive,
If you did not get cross that day.”

A golden frame sits on its dresser,
It has no choice but to stare at that sad man.
He is surrounded by roses and cards to cheer,
And he sits to watch the box, while holding a can.
To it he says “Why do you just sit there,
To try to diminish my frown?”
Its whole purpose of existence seems to end,
For the mourning man has pulled the frame down.