The Ethereal Imprint

The invisible wind, a gentle breath,
Passed like a dream, a fleeting instant.
It did not carve the stone, nor move the path,
But danced among peaks, with ethereal peace.
Every leaf brushed, every stalk bent low,
A tender touch that almost disappears.
The air was shaped, a stolen sigh and flow,
An unseen form, sculpted through the years.
Then fell its passing, the journey done,
Memory faded, veiled by oblivion’s hand.
No one seeks now the trace it had begun,
That faint soft breath, across this lost land.
But remains, unseen, a subtle thread of light,
An ethereal scar within the world’s core.
It is the tremor unknown on an April night,
The forgotten wind, forevermore.