In the golden light of dawn, it dances,
Tiny motes swirling in the air,
Each one tells a story of places,
Of moments forgotten, of time laid bare.

Dust, a silent witness to life’s parade,
Settles softly on memories vast,
An ancient chronicle delicately displayed,
On shelves and frames, shadows cast.

Through the window, light reveals,
The quiet presence we often ignore,
It speaks in whispers, softly appeals,
To the essence of life, to the core.

So let us pause and see the magic,
In the humble dust that surrounds,
A symbol of time, both slow and tragic,
In every home, in every mound.