Will my tale be written on a leaf?

I have walked the silent paths of grief
Sunless,dreary,cold and all alone.
I have slept on beds of winter leaves.

I feel that death’s a cruel,mysterious  thief.
Although my heart weeps and my joy has gone,
I have never felt I was deceived.

I have learned that human life is brief.
I have learned by sorrow we’re undone.
I  have sifted earth and what’s beneath.

I have felt my dark emotions seethe
While I'm cruelly mocked by glaring sun.
I have learned the geography of grief.

I wait in patience for my life to cease.
Will  I know when my last supper's  come?
Will my tale be written on a leaf?

Unconsoled  grief  can make   us dumb
Into  our  hearts, we drag the ice  that numbs
I have walked the silent paths of grief
I have made my bed on winter leaves