As twilight casts its gentle shroud,
A wisp of smoke begins its flight,
Twirling through the silent crowd,
A ghostly dancer in the night.

The ember glows with whispered dreams,
Each exhale births a fleeting tale,
Like rivers weaving through the streams,
A smoky path, a fragile veil.

In solitude, the embers sing,
A siren’s call in muted tones,
The air, a stage where phantoms cling,
To memories carved in bones.

Yet in the haze of fleeting breath,
Lies the shadow of a fading plea,
For every puff, a step to death,
In smoke, the dance of destiny.