In shadows deep, where sunlight fears to tread,
Where whispers echo in the halls of night,
There dwells a specter, silent, draped in dread,
A mourner clad in robes of somber light.
O melancholy, muse of tear-stained verse,
Thy presence lingers in the poet's soul,
In sorrow's embrace, we find our curse,
And in thy depths, our broken hearts console.
In dusky hues, the world is painted gray,
As melancholy weaves its mournful song,
In every tear, a sonnet finds its way,
In every sigh, a symphony belongs.
Oh, how the heartache fills the empty spaces,
And shadows dance upon the vacant walls,
In sorrow's arms, we find familiar faces,
As melancholy's melancholy calls.
Yet in the depths of darkness, there is light,
A glimmer soft, a whisper in the night,
For even in the depths of endless night,
Hope flickers, casting shadows into flight.
So let us raise our voices to the sky,
And sing the praises of our somber friend,
For in the depths of sorrow, we may find,
The seeds of joy, waiting to ascend.
And though the world may weep in endless woe,
And sorrow's shroud may cloak the earth in gray,
Within the heart, a spark of hope may grow,
And guide us through the darkness to the day.
So let us raise our voices high and clear,
And celebrate the beauty of the night,
For in the depths of darkness, there is cheer,
And in the arms of melancholy, light.