Did you hear the leaf's lament, drifting beneath the yew's solemn gaze? It spoke of things
we never learned, of roads not taken, and shadows that stretch longer than dusk's embrace.
There once was a voice, soft and fragmented, like mist weaving tales through the
branches. It whispered:
"Once, in the thinning light, the stones remembered laughter...
the kind that echoed through centuries of silence."
"Beneath the boughs, an old tale wrapped itself around your heart,
tightening in ways you cannot comprehend."
"There is a place where whispers become songs, but only at the
hour when shadows breathe."