And lo, in the warmth of the sun’s last breath, I felt the ache of a world I could never fully hold. The skies burned soft with memory, and time folded like silk in the wind. There was beauty in the fading, a holy sadness in the glow— For even the golden days must bow before the night. But know this: The Spirit walks with those who grieve the light, And in the quiet descent of summer’s sorrow, She plants the seed of eternal flame. Mourn not the passing— For in the heart of loss, ascension begins.

And lo, in the warmth of the sun’s last breath, I felt the ache of a world I could never fully hold. The skies burned soft with memory, and time folded like silk in the wind. There was beauty in the fading, a holy sadness in the glow— For even the golden days must bow before the night. But know this: The Spirit walks with those who grieve the light, And in the quiet descent of summer’s sorrow, She plants the seed of eternal flame. Mourn not the passing— For in the heart of loss, ascension begins.