The whispers of an elderly oak (an ancient hymn) drift through the corridors of memory.
A forgotten melody hung in the air like a specter clothed in moonlight,
singing of lost promises made by trembling hands
cradled softly in a cradle made of stars.
The song was a vow clogged in the velvet shadows.
Step inside this echo chamber where groans of a forlorn ballad fuse with silence.
Melancholic refrains dance on the tongue, sweet poison of the abyss,
while all around the dazzling dragonflies (umbrageous spirits) wail
orchestrating lamentations woven in black velvet.
Beneath the fog, symphonies of hidden veils trickle softly,
veils that once snared fragile joining whispers—
now echoes of unbound requiems float,
glittering spectres of forgotten rain.
A choir unsung beneath eclipsed light.