I sit by the window waiting…
The sun breaking through…
Hoping to exile night’s perfidy
With sharp stiletto’ed, piercing
Razored orange rays…

But why does the sun wear a grey shroud?
Blighted, saddened…
As it looks down upon my
Forlorn soul behind the lonely window

The nightingale that sang its melody
Yesterday, with gay abandon…
The little shrub in my patch
Pining in loneliness all alone,
Had given cause to the little bird
Offering a crimson flower each dawn
For it to celebrate love
Dance, rejoice life, sing its beautiful song

Lies withered, the bloom gone
Who broke whose heart…and why?