In the silent dance of time’s embrace,
Where ancient whispers softly tread,
Dust weaves tales of forgotten grace,
In shadows where the past is spread.

Each particle a story holds,
Of dreams once bright, now faded pale,
In corners where the memory molds,
Echoes linger, telling their tale.

Through sunlit beams and moonlit glow,
Dust drifts in patterns vast and free,
A gentle reminder of all we know,
A bridge between what was and will be.

In the quiet of the twilight’s hush,
Where time and space converge and blend,
Dust speaks of life’s ephemeral rush,
A journey that circles, with no end.