In the quiet pasture where the soft winds sigh,
Underneath the canvas of a painted sky,
The leaves are whispering tales of old,
In shades of rust and crimson, a story retold.
An amber flame dances in the chilling air,
Casting warmth upon the earth with remnants rare.
As twilight holds the day in gentle embrace,
I wander through the stillness, lost in this place.
The starlit harp plays a melody divine,
Strings woven with dreams that forever intertwine.
Each note a shimmer beneath the silver night,
Guiding lone travelers through shadows of light.
And while a lone crow cuts through the dusky gray,
I search for the echoes from the light of day.
With every flutter, secrets rise and fall,
In the chilly silence, I hear nature call.
Through the autumn hues, where the stories weave,
I find a comfort deep, in the tales that we leave.
The pasture remembers, the songs of our heart,
In the fading of daylight, we’ll never depart.
So let the amber flame spark our gentle dreams,
As the starlit harp cradles our whispered themes.
For in this quiet moment, we find our grace,
In the colors of autumn, our souls interlace.
With every breath taken, the night starts to fade,
Yet the memories linger in the choices we made.
Though seasons may change, like the ebb of the tide,
In the quiet pasture, forever we’ll bide.
Folk
Autumn hues, quiet pasture, amber flame, starlit harp, lone crow