Beneath the canopy of never-was, silent verses stir. Their echoes tiptoe on the edge of dreams, brushing against frail memories of slumber’s tender cradle.
How long have they waited, these woven murmurs? To entwine among the roots and branches, cradle to cradle in a forgotten tree's slight sway.
In the hush, phantom footsteps dance through the text, carrying stories veiled by the twilight's gentle sigh:
Listen. The wind carries them, these lullabies, a soft serenade for those willing to hear the unseen.