Above the horizon where the sun sinks low,
Shadows dance in spirals, weaving tales untold.
Echoes linger, syllables lost in the wind,
Fading like memories on a canvas of dusk.
Inhale the scent of forgotten marigolds,
Experience the warmth of sunlit specters.
They journey across the twilight, roaming,
Embracing the moments between today and tomorrow.
The path lies before you, a mosaic of dreams,
Where burnt orange whispers emerge as phantoms.
Your steps distort the surface of this realm,
Each tread an incantation, a rite in secret.