Shadows of scattered dreams whisper truths caught in the branches of time.
Beneath the barren crescent, lanterns sway to the forgotten melodies of transience.
"Nostalgic petals fall, yet do not seem to die," the wind sighs softly.
A next whispered secret may dwell in the heart of "muffled echoes".
Perhaps it is distant memories rocking in the embrace of lantern light that live a dance apart.
For what live blooms—on whispered air—the "elusive echoes"?