Late autumn whispers leave secrets in the cold dawn light,

a forgotten carousel spins slowly in the foggy distance.

The clock's hands were petals, turning in rhythm to unseen rain,

colorless ghosts danced under a sun that forgot its name.

In the silence of a brick jungle, whispers held hands with the wind,

stories unfolded like paper cranes beneath cloud-cast shadows.

Underneath shattered memories of yesterday’s light beams,

the scent of lavender and ink embraced an empty park bench.