In the whisper of the evening breeze,
When shadows softly intertwine,
We find the echoes of our days,
And endings gently draw the line.

The sun dips low beyond the hills,
Painting skies in hues of gold,
With every dusk, a tale concludes,
New stories wait to be retold.

Leaves fall silent to the ground,
Their dance a final, graceful bow,
In endings, beauty often found,
As nature takes its solemn vow.

So let us cherish every close,
For in the end, we come to see,
That endings are but gentle prose,
Of life’s enduring poetry.