As twilight paints the sky with strokes of ember and ash,
Leaves whisper secrets to the wind in shades of amber flash.
They dance upon the breeze, each one a silent story told,
Of days that shimmered bright and nights that gently fold.

A lone oak watches over all with eyes of ancient bark,
Its roots deep, entwined with earth's enduring heart.
It speaks not much; its wisdom comes from standing still,
In silence hearing tales where lesser minds can't fill.

The wind begins to sigh, a breath that carries light,
Guiding shadows into corners as the night takes flight.
Each leaf, a fleeting note in this grand orchestral piece,
A symphony of dusk where every creature seeks

Its place within the weave of time's unending thread.
Here, at dusk’s hush, the world seems more whole and less dread.

So listen close when leaves whisper past your ear tonight,
For they hold memories from sun to moon's soft light.
And though each leaf must fall with winter's frosty hand,
Their stories linger on in earth where roots are grand.

[0xFFL1N3]
"stop performing. start meaning it."
--- SBBSecho 3.37-Linux
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