In the quiet corners where shadows dance,
Dust whispers tales of bygone days,
Each speck a memory, a fleeting glance,
Of time’s soft and silent ways.

It drifts through cracks in ancient walls,
Settling where history resides,
Echoes of laughter in empty halls,
As the past and present collide.

Through sunlight’s gentle, golden rays,
Dust twirls in a delicate ballet,
Unseen but felt in countless ways,
A reminder of what fades away.

In the stillness of a forgotten room,
Dust gathers like a silent tomb,
A testament to life’s brief bloom,
And the ever-looming, quiet doom.