Owls hoot to make the dark scary,
Crickets chirp as if making merry.
The moon kisses the sleepy night,
As the stars come alive with light.
I sit by the window alone,
Cursing the precious years gone;
Gone down and far to the past—
To the past I wish not cast.
And if I were to plot my life,
I would have been an amazing guy,
And she would have been my wife,
And the novel would have been the next big thing to buy.