Where dawn once sang, now silence casts its veil,
No sunlit warmth—just echoes sharp and pale.
The sky’s glass shudders in the deadened gloom,
While in the ashes, winds weave sorrow’s tomb.
The ancient garden, where the birds once soared,
Suddenly fell, its light forever stored.
A breath so cruel has drained the sap from leaves,
And with the silence, only fate still grieves.
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