A tender hymn to twilight’s fleeting grace— the earth cradles time, weaving stillness into breath.

Twilight candles melt to dew,
their shadows stitch the dusky moon.
Moss-cradles hum, their roots in dust—
a lullaby the earth hums, not unjust.

Each breath of dusk wears time like fleece,
the stars lean close to mend the crease
of days undone. Let bare land sleep—
roots will remember what we reap.

Stars fade like amber votives,
hollow earth breathes slow.
Lichen stitches cracks in stone—
a sigh in the fold of black soil.

Moon cups, ivy threads.
Hush—the roots hum lullabies
to the dust that clings to bones.
Bare feet lift, then sink,
cradled by the weight of nothing.