Echoes of Dust

11 Apr 2026

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 years like leaves begin to drift,
A precious, ever-shortening gift.
No matter wealth, no matter fame,
We answer to the final name.

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.