The melody that once rang so clear;
whose medley resounded in my ear:
I simply just don't hear this anymore,
at least not the way I did before.
It seems our duet has now gone solo.
I never noticed its decrescendo.
When did our sonance turn into a whine?
When did our beat, or tempo decline?
Just when, I wonder, did our song die?
Could it have been sometime in the spring?
When all the birds in chorus sing.
Could it have been sometime in the summer?
When the bees fly about in a hummer.
Could it have been sometime during the fall?
When a sense of complacency does loll.
Could it have been sometime in the winter?
Right as the snows begin to hinder.
Just when, I wonder, did our song die?
Could it have been sometime in the morn?
Just after the day was newly born.
Could it have been when the sun was on high?
After reaching its apex in the sky.
Could it have been sometime in the evening?
The part of the day when life is most serene.
Could it have been sometime during the night?
When everything disappears from sight.
Just when, I wonder, did our song die?
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Author Notes
About a couple in which a partner believes their feelings towards each other aren't the same as they once were.
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