In the garden of whispered dreams,
where moonlight hums through silk-draped trees,
lies the petal, trembling in morning dew,
cradling secrets of the ever-vanished.
Roses kissed by the breath of twilight,
bloom upon the horizon, a surreal tapestry
woven from stardust and forgotten sighs.
The wind carries tales of those who danced
upon the fringes of reality, their laughter
etched in the scars of broken dawns.
Listen, and you shall hear the echoes:
a symphony played on petals soft and frail,
sung by voices caught in the weft of time.