In the cavernous depths of shaded azure, wherein whispers the melody of tidal ancestors, lie verses that dance beneath the luminescent echo of moonlit beams. You step with cautious grace upon a mere ripple, yet the abyss... is just ahead.
Secrets locked in labyrinths of salted syllables, conch-shell lyres lamenting while sea-fires flicker. Queries you cast; word-fish slip through unseen currents of never recalled dawns, spinning in nocturne grace.
Implicit mysteries, woven and unwoven, elude grasp like mist, churning wards of forgetting. Continue, oh seeker of tides: East of dreams sits the Ark of Scribe, to west the empty pages.