Echoes

Golden light spills through trembling leaves,

A whisper of time the wind retrieves.

Footsteps dance on dust-worn streets,

Chasing echoes, chasing dreams.

A childhood laugh, a fleeting spark,

Glows like embers in the dark.

Soft hands once small, now strong, now free,

Yet tied to whispers of memory.

The river hums an ageless tune,

Silvered by the melting moon.

Barefoot summers, firefly beams,

A sky stitched tight with woven dreams.

Mountains called with voices deep,

Secrets sung where echoes sleep.

We carved our names on weathered stone,

To prove the world was once our own.

Oh, the seasons move, they shift, they spin,

Yet past and present fold within.

Each petal fallen, each star that stays,

A thread still stitched through younger days.

Not lost, not gone—just changed in hue,

A living painting, bold and true.

For every dawn that paints the sky,

Is brushed with light of days gone by.