The dream is past
Upon a ridge, the echoes fade,
Mist drapes the dawn in silver shade.
A lone tree hums where whispers flow,
As dewdrops race the breeze below.
The seasons shift, the dream is past,
A fleeting bloom, too bright to last.
Yet in the hush where echoes stay,
A long-lost song still finds its way.
Copyright © Maclawrence Famuyiwa | Year Posted 2025
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