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.