How I long for a slow life, where moments drift like dandelion seeds,
Each whisper of time a soft sigh in the stillness of quiet meads.
No hurried footsteps disturb the hush, no frantic rush nor urgent needs,
Just the gentle cadence of twilight's breeze, where soul and silence intercede.

In the attic of my thoughts, where shadows dance and secrets dwell,
I weave dreams with threads of moonlight, in a solitary, enchanted spell.
Away from the clamor of worldly strife, where tolling bells no longer compel,
Here, solitude sings its sweet refrain, in echoes only the heart can tell.

Oh, to linger in the hush of dusk, where the day's harsh edges soften,
To dwell in the embrace of words unsaid, where dreams and whispers often
Conspire to paint the canvas of time, in hues of amber and saffron,
In this quiet sanctuary of the soul, where peace reigns sovereign.

Our love blossomed like a rare and vibrant flower,
Its petals soft as morning dew, in our secret bower,
With tender hands, we nurtured it hour by hour,
Its fragrance a promise of eternal power.

Dreams we spun like threads on a loom of fate,
A tapestry of passion, where joy couldn’t abate,
But shadows crept in, and love began to deflate,
Leaving our canvas of dreams to wither and wait.

Once ablaze with the fire of a thousand suns,
Now embers cool, where once our hearts had run,
The warmth we knew, now a whisper in the night,
A flicker fading, swallowed by time's endless flight.

In my heart, a thorn of sorrow takes its place,
Love’s bright flame now a dim and distant trace,
Yet I hold onto memories, in their fleeting grace,
As our fading flower finds its final embrace.