The summer wind tousled the midnight blue draperies,
revealing the silent whispers of secrets untold,
secrets that slumber in the old oaks; whispering gnarly tongues,
entwined in ivy's embrace.
"Beware the call of stars fallen," she murmurs,
"for they weave tales amidst the omens...
draped in the twilight hues of blue and violet,
where embers like shadows recall the autumn haze."
Laid upon the gravestones,
the wind carries a hymn of lost souls,
those craving a shiver's touch,
entwined within the spectral roots that push through earth,
grasping at memories, forgotten and dormant,
beneath the moon’s ethereal gaze.
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