The Nightingale's Tale

Is it Spring? I can't tell.
Light has escaped and all is dark
Seems I haven't made it out of Hell.

Bluebonnets turn to black
A pain to see them wither
As you leave and turn your back

Old trees part ways
Dead leaves fall and I yearn
I'd hoped that you'd stay

Great wind chimes bellow ache
The birds fly away in dread
My heart's grief no one can take

Books in the library fall
Your pages disintegrate in my hands
You aren't my beast after all

And I return to the night.