Muted evidence proclaimed the subtle oddities of night
Lunar time should have reached the zenith of its height
No chirping crickets were heard, nor angry feline brawls
Lacking was the rhythmic chanting of nocturnal owl calls
No lengthened shadows grew where they should be cast
The moon, in her pale depression, had only risen half mast
Strange and sullen manner, for summer's interlude to end
As though it were lamenting the loss of a beloved friend
Not just physical in nature, but with heartfelt mortal pain
Darkened was the dead of night for one whose love was slain
In grief there would be no consolation, no hope of happiness
But there remains a hunger for love, an appetite so ravenous
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