In whispers, the echoes danced through the hollow oaks,
The guardian of untold secrets, veiled in amber hues.
Tread softly, amongst figments of forgotten lore,
The lattice of thoughts, an intricate braid of time.
Once, there existed an austere corridor painted in umbra tones,
Through which the gossamer thoughts of dreamwalkers strolled.
Mark the fallen pyres, echoing revelations beneath a starlit dome.
Time, a capricious drifter, wanders ever yet.