The sun sinks low,
its light spilling gold across the horizon.
Clouds drift, heavy with the weight
of fading warmth.
Shadows grow long, reaching into the quiet corners.
The air cools,
carrying the scent of dust and grass.
A single star appears,
fragile against the endless sky.
In this stillness,
the world exhales.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem