These streets I walk, they call your name.
Where my excursions have not been the same.
These tress and the birds sing your song.
When it rains, they’d want us to come along.
These evening breezes whisper me by the ear,
About how they loved seeing us in pair.
These lonely moments begging for your presence to be felt.
But your frozen heart has yet to melt.
These eyes of mine dying to see your light.
These hands wanting to hold you tight.
These immense crowds fail to connect my call.
So I die every night, thinking of you, wanting to share it all.
It is when I can’t endure this pain.
I write it down simple and plain.
A page I keep up every now and then,
What I call it, a lover’s complaint.