In lands once vibrant, a hush began to fall, As hues receded, answering a silent call. A robin’s breast, once scarlet, soft and bright, Now softened to a whisper, dimming into white. The laughter bubbling, free and light and bold, Grew fainter, like a story seldom told. And as the spectrum bled from every scene, So too, the world forgot what joy had been. The golden sun, a muted, pallid gleam, Reflected in a colorless, slow-flowing stream. No longer emerald fields, but shades of grey, Where children used to frolic, laugh, and play. Their smiles, once radiant, a gentle, fading glow, As happiness diminished, soft and low. The vibrant zest, the keen, delightful spark, Surrendered to the encroaching, joyless dark. A painter wept, his canvas stark and bare, For all the pigments vanished from the air. No fiery passion, no serene cool blue, Just endless tones of what was once so new. And with each brushstroke, spirit seemed to wane, A silent sorrow, washing through the rain. The songs once su...
