In the stillness of the midnight garden,
Where shadows weave their gentle lace,
A solitary tear finds its way,
Through the echoes of a remembered face.

The petals droop in silent mourning,
For the laughter that once filled the air,
Now just whispers, lost and forlorn,
In the heart’s abandoned lair.

Beneath the stars, the nightingale sings,
A melody of forgotten dreams,
As the moon casts its silver gaze,
On the river’s silent streams.

Yet in the quiet, a promise lingers,
Of a dawn that will break anew,
Where the garden will bloom once more,
With memories that time cannot subdue.