Another poem I found by my hero, David Hyrum Smith. I'm still looking for the name if it.
"I strive to win again the pleasant thought;
The music only speaks in mournful tone;
The very flowers wear a shade, and naught
Can bring again the halo that is gone;
And every company my soul hath sought,
Though crowds surround me, finds me still alone.
I turn unto my tasks with weary hands,
Grieving with sadness, knowing not the cause
Before my face a desert path expands,
I will not falter in the toil, nor pause;
Only, my spirit somehow understands
This mournful truth—I am not what I was."