Whispers of the Evening Sky
The sun dips low in amber grace,
Its golden fingers leave no trace.
The hush of dusk begins to swell,
A quiet song the stars foretell.
The breeze, a painter, strokes the trees,
With twilight tones and gentle ease.
Each leaf a note, each branch a line,
Composing verses so divine.
The moon ascends with silver pride,
A lantern on the ocean tide.
It watches dreams drift soft and slow,
Where hopes and memories gently flow.
So close your eyes and let it be
The night’s a poem, wild and free.
Its rhymes are woven in the air,
For hearts that listen, souls that dare.
T