In the twilight shade, where the echoes play
the sunset calls, a whispering loop
looping, turning, like a record lost
in spirals of crimson and gold.
Do you remember, the colors bleed,
into the horizon, a dance unending,
as the days end cradles the night?
the night whispers too, a soft echo.
The sun sinks, yet rises, behind curtains unseen,
and in that rise, again, we find our fall.
Again, again, the cycle sings,
in the melody of dusk, we are fleeting.