The docks whisper beneath the moonlit skies,
echoes of a fervent heart.
Collect the seashells, hold their whispers close,
they speak of tides and lovers lost in time.

The threshold is a delicate boundary
between the known and the whispers of yore.

Patience, child of the breeze,
let dreams take wing upon your eyelids.

Dare you tread these docks at dusk,
where spirits of forgotten romances dance?

Secrets have their marks, find them.
Windows to the wind's own soul.
Sheens that gleam like whispered sighs.