The evening air forgets to move,
As if it waits for you to prove.
That beauty’s flame can still remain,
And light the dark despite its chain.

Where broken walls and ivy meet,
Your steps make ancient ruins sweet.
The past itself leans in to hear,
The song your presence plants so near.

The roses bend, the shadows lean,
To honor what their eyes have seen.
Your light dissolves the creeping gray,
And crowns the dusk in soft array.

By twilight’s hand your form is drawn,
A fleeting glow before the dawn.
The stars align, the heavens rest,
To guard the fire within your chest.