In twilight’s mourn, where shadows creep,
Your name, a whisper, stirs my sleep.
A phantom touch on autumn’s breath,
Recalling warmth, defying death.
The amber leaves lament the fall,
Each golden hue, your spectral call.
A song that haunts the naked trees,
Your voice entwined with the chill of breeze.
Beneath the moon’s unholy glow,
A longing roots, it will not go.
The soil, it stirs, the earth does ache,
For something lost yet still awake.
Return, oh wraith, to hollow arms,
Revive the dusk with phantom charms.
The night’s embrace, so cold, so bare,
Yearns to hold what once was there.