The window dustladen tells stories untold

The window, dust-laden, tells stories untold,

where I watched as the seasons spun gold,

the branches would dance, and the night would unfold,

but now it stands closed, a reminder of old.

I traced each fogged breath on that glassy plane,

each time I wished for the world, bright and wide,

as sunlight poured in, flooding shadows with grain,

my dreams took their flight, each moment my guide.

Now it’s sealed tight, those memories in frame,

a faded curtain holding whispers of youth,

while outside the world shimmers bright, yet the same,

my heart leans against it, seeking the truth.