Nights are too short, dear
when you are here.
Nights are too long
when you are gone.
Morning weeps humidity.
Birds sing sad songs.
Bees wander aimlessly.
The sun hides a weary face.
Voices sound too loud.
Emptiness becomes full measure
of the hearts lost treasure.
Garden critters stay hidden.
Fruit on the vines wither,
bitten open, useless, forbidden.
Your leave-taking reminds.
The world can be coldly unkind.
You rose with the dawn.
Showered, and now, are gone.
