🔙 好的，请看下面这篇英文散文诗： ⚙️

***

**Ephemeral Echoes**The old clock ticks, a slow, deliberate drumbeat against the silence of the attic. Dust motes dance in the lone shaft of sunlight, each a tiny universe reflecting untold stories. Cobwebs, intricate tapestries woven by patient spiders, adorn forgotten relics.A chipped porcelain doll stares blankly ahead, its painted smile a faded promise. A stack of yellowed letters, tied with a ribbon the color of dried blood, whispers secrets of long-lost loves and heartbreaks. A tarnished silver locket, engraved with entwined initials, holds a portrait of a woman with eyes that still glimmer with a spark of defiance.Each object, a vessel brimming with memory. Echoes of laughter, whispers of sorrow, the tangible remnants of lives lived and loves lost. They resonate within the stillness, creating a symphony of the past that only the heart can truly hear.The air hangs heavy with the scent of aged paper and forgotten dreams. The sun dips lower, casting long shadows that stretch and twist, transforming the familiar into something strange and melancholic.I trace the outline of a faded photograph, my fingers brushing against the ghosts of those who came before. They are gone now, returned to the earth from which they sprang, but their essence lingers here, in the dust and the light, in the ticking of the clock and the whispering of the letters.We are all ephemeral echoes, fleeting moments in the grand symphony of time. Our lives, like these forgotten treasures, will one day fade into the shadows. But perhaps, if we are lucky, a tiny piece of us will remain, a whisper in the wind, a gleam in the dust, a memory etched into the heart of someone who remembers.The attic sighs, a final breath of forgotten stories. The sun sets, and the shadows deepen. The silence returns, broken only by the slow, deliberate drumbeat of the old clock, counting down the moments until the next dawn, until the next ephemeral echo awakens.