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.