In the quiet of the twilight, where shadows softly tread,

Lies a tapestry of sorrow, a silent song of dread.

The moon, a solemn witness, casts its pale, forlorn light,
Illuminating memories, in the stillness of the night.

Tears like crystal rivers, flow from eyes so worn and tired,
Each droplet holds a story, of dreams that have expired.
The world seems draped in mourning, under skies so somber, grey,
As if the earth itself laments, the joy that's slipped away.

In the whisper of the wind, a mournful melody,

A chorus of the lost, the broken, and the free.
Leaves rustle with the weight of grief they cannot speak,
A language of the heart, so profound and yet so bleak.

The rose that once stood proudly, now bows its heavy head,
Its petals, once so vibrant, now withered, dry, and dead.
A symbol of the love that's lost, the beauty that decays,
In the relentless march of time, the night that swallows days.

Yet even in the depths of despair, a glimmer can be found,

A spark of hope, a fleeting touch, a soft and gentle sound.
For even in the darkest night, the stars above still shine,
A reminder that beyond the gloom, the sun will once again rise.

So let us weep for what is lost, and mourn what might have been,
But let us also cherish, the love that we have seen.
For even in our deepest sorrow, our hearts can find a way,
To see the beauty in the pain, the night within the day.