The whispering willow's waltz, beneath the twilight's embrace,
weaves through the corridors of forgotten notes.

Each leaf a memory, each gust a whispered fate that wanders aimlessly,
a query trailing into realms where time loosens its tether.

A place where the mariner sails the skies in search of sandstone dreams,
forever weaving through the lunar tides, an echo of laughter unfelt.

Within those dreams, the luna moth dances upon invisible threads of silk,
threading fables into the night as constellations shimmer knowingly.