The magnolia sighs a mournful tune,

As twilight drapes the Spanish moss in gloom.

Mockingbird's melody, once sweet and high,

Now whispers low, a lonesome, sobbing cry.

The honeysuckles’ scent, once playful on the breeze,

Holds sorrow's weight ‘neath heavy, drooping trees.

The sun descends, a fiery, lonely sphere,

Reflecting pain in waters dark and clear.

A shadowed path, where laughter used to ring,

Now echoes hollow with the woes it brings.

The heart that danced with joy, now beats so slow,

Aching with a love it cannot know.