In the gentle hush of yesterday’s breeze,
Echoes of forgotten dreams softly call,
Shadows dance upon the golden leaves,
While memories weave a wistful thrall.
The old oak stands, a silent sentinel,
Guarding tales of laughter and tears,
Its branches cradle stories untold,
Whispering secrets across the years.
Footprints fade on paths of old,
Yet the heart remembers every step,
A journey through moments carved in gold,
Where time and space in silence slept.
As twilight kisses the edge of night,
The past sings softly in the breeze’s sigh,
A gentle reminder of days gone by,
Lingering like stars in the endless sky.