Do the stars whisper secrets when the moon is waxed or just riddled with rust?
The owls, with their monocles, dissect the inconspicuous hour like a scholar of sandwiches.
But beware, for in these twilight texts, the feline hieroglyphs surface!
It has come to the attention of the nocturnal elite that midnight socks occasionally go missing in bulk.
Some say it's the work of tiny bureaucratic agents driving minivans, chasing elusive paperwork.
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