With each day's gentle close, nostalgia grips me tight, a quiet whisper in the dance of twilight’s soft light. It tells a tale of summer's warm sighs coming to a tender end, of sunbeam's fleeting grace, and the moon's cool face returning to a sky it’s longed to befriend. Each dawn’s promise leaves me lost in thought, a sun-kissed dream softly sought.
The golden daffodils bloom, a fleeting, gentle spell, yet my heart yearns for mornings where sunlight dwells. That warm glow, a soft herald of days now gone, of crisp dawn air, of a world in bright, warm throng. The aroma of fresh blooms, sweet lemonade’s tender, sharp taste, and the tender strum of guitar notes, a soft, summer’s embrace, takes me back to a tender, heated place.
Oh, the simple truth, hard to dismiss, I'm a sucker for summer, its warm, quiet bliss. Each sunray’s touch, a soft, delicate kiss, a reminder of a world, in tender, heated mist.
