In the quiet dance of drifting dust,Memories weave through the sunlit air,Unseen threads of a forgotten past,Whispers of stories once shared.

Each mote a silent witness to time,Carrying echoes of laughter and tears,Floating gently in the evening light,In their quiet flight, they bear years.

In the corners where shadows play,Dust settles in layers thick and deep,Guardians of secrets left untold,In their stillness, histories sleep.

Yet in a breath, they rise and swirl,A dance of moments, endless and vast,In the fragile beauty of their flight,We see reflections of the past.