The circuit hums a quiet song,
Lines etched in dust, fleeting memoirs,
Of wanderers who seek, yet find only
Echoes in the hollow, resounding past.
Formation of shadows on an unseen path,
Each footprint a whisper, a tale unsaid,
The ground yields not to their story,
Just the rhythm of absence, softly cast.
Once, these steps danced to a dream,
Now, they spiral in a lost choreography,
Where did they lead, these specters of soil,
In circles quite round, yet destinations askew?