Echoes of Dust
The Breath We Hold
A fleeting spark, a whispered sigh,
We walk the earth beneath the sky.
Each dawn a gift, each dusk a close,
To where the silent river flows.
The Gentle Fade
The years like leaves begin to drift,
A precious, ever-shortening gift.
No matter wealth, no matter fame,
We answer to the final name.
A Quiet Knowing
So live with love, and learn to glean,
The beauty of what lies between.
For in this life, though brief and fast,
The echoes of our spirits last.
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