On the banks where cerulean dreams weave, the river sings
soft murmurs echoing in the soul's shadow.
Alien shores kissed by nebula light
cradle the wanderer's heart.
Footsteps scatter across sands unafraid,
creating ripples in time’s fragile tapestry.
Listen—to the syllables of stars,
each a tale not yet forgotten.
The river knows the wayward stars,
that drift without compass or name.
Here, the language is liquid, ever flowing
weaving silken paths through eternity.