Whispers among the leaves, once a stronger hue,
Time acts gently, like the rhythm of a lullaby.
Where laughter danced, shadows thread long-forgotten paths,
And memories skitter like dust motes in the dim light.
Remember the laughter at the old swing set,
Rust itself sings how we swung nearer to the sky?
Yet, puddled dreams are not gone—they frame the echoes,
A soft sigh carries the past to the gentle ground.