In the temple of old whispers,
Where time itself kneels,
A mirror holds the breath of yesteryears.
Lingering shadows dance
Behind the glass, in twilight's grasp,
Echoes of forgotten whispers,
Muffled by the dust of ages,
Speak to the wanderer.

Gazes entwined with spectral forms,
As if the night itself reflects back
A mosaic of dreams unfulfilled.