In the quiet whisper of the night,
Where shadows dance in tender flight,
The stars above begin to weave,
Tales of those who came to leave.

The river flows, a gentle stream,
Carrying dreams, a silent theme,
Each ripple sings of time’s embrace,
Etching stories on our face.

Leaves fall softly, a golden hue,
In the cycle old, yet ever new,
Mortality’s gentle hand we feel,
In every breath, in every reel.

Yet in the dusk, a light we find,
A tender hope within the mind,
For love and laughter never fade,
In memories that we have made.