In quiet moments, softly drawn,
The past awakes with the breaking dawn.
A gentle breeze, a fleeting sigh,
Echoes of stories that never die.
Through shadows deep and silent skies,
The whispers come with longing cries.
Of dreams once bright, now turned to dust,
Of whispered promises, betrayed trust.
The memories dance in secret light,
Flickering flames in the heart of night.
They stir the soul, both kind and bold,
A tapestry woven of threads untold.
In the rustling leaves, in the moon’s soft glow,
The past speaks loud, yet none shall know.
Its lessons wrapped in veils of time,
Calling us back to hearts that rhyme.
So listen closely, dear and true,
To the whispers that carry the old and new.
For in their depths, we find our way,
As the past and present gently sway.
Thank-you for reading.
Much Love and Light,
Brenda Marie
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