In the quiet of the night, shadows dance,
Whispers of sorrow in a delicate trance.
Moonlight weaves through the leaves, so pale,
Painting a portrait of hearts that ail.

The stars above, they seem so near,
Yet far away, echoing every tear.
A symphony of sighs fills the air,
As dreams and despair intertwine their snare.

Beneath the willow, where memories fade,
Lies a story in the twilight’s shade.
Forgotten laughter, now distant and cold,
Wrapped in a melancholy’s silent hold.

The dawn may break with rays of gold,
But the heart remembers what the night has told.
In every sunrise, there’s a lingering trace,
Of the melancholy that time can’t erase.