In the murmuring darkness, the echo-lullaby hums, chasing thoughts like shadows, weaving whispers into static waves; their undertow gentle, embracing, gentle. Shall I drift, caught in their eternal sigh?
Through the silence tangled, a symphony of murmurs plays, secret serenades, a veil of hawthorn mist encircles dreams that dance on the cusp of wakefulness. The ocean sang that tune once, you know.
A hollow in the whispering tree echoes , their voices journeyed here, embarking unwittingly with the sylphs wandering stars. And lanterns flicker in a call-to-arms against night’s absurdity.
Ever breathing, tides of thought unspool, unraveling dreams. Tongues of salt kiss spans of sleep, while time, always the sculptor, etches constellations in the soft marrow of all lullabies.