In the quiet corners of a forgotten room,
Shadows dance with a silent grace,
Whispers of the past softly loom,
Etched in the lines of an aging face.

The scent of old letters, yellowed with age,
Holds stories of laughter, tears, and dreams,
Each word a key to unlock the cage,
Of moments flowing like gentle streams.

A melody plays on the strings of the heart,
Echoing through the chambers of time,
Memories woven like delicate art,
In a tapestry of rhythm and rhyme.

As the twilight descends, painting the sky,
With hues of gold and crimson bright,
We hold close the echoes, never goodbye,
In the quiet of the approaching night.