Baby It Hurts

Baby, it hurts when the night won’t sing, When stars are cold and the wind takes wing, I press my heart to the darkened pane, And whisper your name like falling rain. The rose is closed in the silent bed, Its petals bruised where your fingers led, And love, once bright as a meadow flame, Now flickers low with neither blamed. Oh hush the ache, the aching sigh— Your absence dances where dreams should lie. Still in my chest your echo burns, A crush of pain that will never learn. Baby, it hurts — and still, I yearn.