Memories, like leaves,
Fallen and scattered by the wind,
Each whirl is a tale,
Spun in the fragile threads of time.
In the garden of the past,
Where shadows and light dance,
Our footsteps echo,
Softly, as if in reverence to what once was.
And in this quiet remembrance,
We learn,
To hold onto the lessons,
Yet let the sorrow drift,
Like leaves on the wind.