As the year ends, its hues trickle down into a bewitched sunset

As the year ends, its hues trickle down into a bewitched sunset, Beneath autumn's brown cheeks, the sky is boldly dusted, With summer's goodbye in a yellow garb, it laid over the lands, The earth's heart in seed, for bouquets shunned, from desires begged. Trills of roses, entangled in the pretentious bloom of narcissi, A swarm of dandelions that detach in the breeze filled with youthful dreams, Waving to someone on the wind, over ponds, over labyrinthine paths, knotted in Nests of song, frail hopes in a whisper, awaiting in majesty, Delicate shadows of fluff and flight, That tremble in the depth of the flame, in the sharp cuts of mist, And limestone caves through the reckless fire shed their white. Herds from the north inscribe their path on the southern sky, Charting the return of the seasons that sneak through the gray rain. The sun hums the twilight to sleep, lost in the blustering night, And bare branches, sifted by longing, stretch under November's surrender, towards the laziness of winter's darkness. And so, the year unravels in a symphony of melancholy and charm, Unveiling itself in a dance woven on the thread of memories, Marching in silence, between being and forgetting in a delicate tapestry, With each departing leaf, a mystery is lost, a legend is hummed. Submissively swimming into autumn's bosom, kissing the frost, In a silk of destinies wrapped in the cosmic twist of time, Silent hopes at the crossroads of worlds, waiting to be tied anew Under the warmth of new dawns, reborn from the cry of the freeze.