Silks of silver, robes of night,
Kneeling where the fields turn bright.
She breathes the gold of fading sun,
Before the summer’s day is done.
With every sigh, the white birds rise,
Ascending into shadowed skies,
As dandelion clocks untether,
Drifting light as downy feather.
A quiet grief, a gentle grace,
Held softly in a forgotten place.
I'm sorry, forgot, those uploaded images did earlier, and prompts are lost...but there are some images here with the same prompt that I uploaded earlier...