Silent Echoes of Yesteryears

Days drift softly in the harbor of memory, each ripple a whisper from skies long sepia-toned.

The old clock tower strikes—the sound reverberates, a solitary brush with distant times.

Once, we ran beneath the sprawling willow, its whispered secrets mingling with our laughter, innocent and wild.

Now, I stand alone, the leaves murmuring tales of you and me—us, forgotten specters in an orchard once lively.

There’s a song the birds don’t sing anymore; it fades with every sunset, an elegy for evanescent light.

Listen closely—the silence hums, a melody only dreams can understand, spiraling through velvet dusk.