(Credit: BeKissable on Deviantart)

On the porch with his violin.

At sunset, he plays everything

That used to make her dance.

He is alone in the house now

With cobwebs and squeaking windows

Since the forest took her.

One summer I brought him small talk,

Groceries and many questions.

No answers ever came.

When I looked over my shoulder,

His silhouette was a statue

Staring at the forest.

It seems very painful with the

Memory and forest so close

One should think he would leave.

But he seems to be waiting and

At sunset, he plays everything

That used to make her dance.