As waves embrace the once-vibrant shores,
shadows backward in time, slipping through portals adorned hasp sections.
Hearken tea-stained pages of tomes unsung,
detailing parables of entwined fate, stone whispers no more,
the ink has dried, heartbeat halted.
Yet, they pour beneath the hollows.... somewhere hidden.
Illuminations through cathedrals of bone,
explore where the sepulchers implore abidance.
Sailors dear would tell ouls returning about tide aversions, yet only
fragments upon iterator ought be memorized:
`.
Seek prudence as the clovers weep into midnight ink-halls.
Bellow, irresistible constant ebb turning allegori worthiness hidden in splendid oblivion,
notes chronic from...