Step softly, little one. The forest breathes deep sighs,
its whispers threading through branches like silver threads.
Listen to the rustle, for it speaks of things unseen,
mysteries woven into the fabric of twilight.
Can you hear the whispers?
There lies a path where shadows dance,
teaching you what light cannot.
Follow the footsteps of those who dared,
learn the forgotten rhymes of the empty spaces.
Yet beware, for not all echoes are kind,
some echo back the laughter of lost dreams.
Watch the clouds paint stories,
tales of giants and dragons in the blue overhead.
But when the thunder rolls,
it sings a different song,
a lullaby that rocks the world to sleep,
and wakes it with an opening eye.
In the deep, night blooms with strange flowers,
a garden of stars twinkling with secrets.
Each glimmer a whispered prayer,
each shadow a forgotten promise.
Delve deep into these wonders,
but tread carefully, for some paths lead
to the heart of stories untold,
waiting for your touch to bring them to life.
And remember, some stories are better left to slumber.
As the echo fades, remember this,
the silence after is a canvas,
waiting for your brush of sound.
Paint it with colors of your dreams,
bright, shadowed, and beautifully echoed.