She would listen
to the wind whistle
through the ravine;
a soulful tune
if a little melancholy.

It sang of heartbreak,
all encompassing
life-crushing
devastating
love.

She knew the words.
Verse upon verse
pressed with pain
they dripped
from her tongue
effortlessly.

Each night
they perform
like long-lost lovers
pining across oceans
ripping flesh apart
in desperation.

Most only hear
weather wailing
hearts unable
to comprehend
the aching melody
surrounding them.

I hear. I feel.
I hurt. I weep.
Their sombre ballad
is not lost
on me.
Every tear
falls for them.