Is it the murmur of twilight that beckons much deeper than the still water?
Stones deserted watch the sunken echoes of adventurers long forgotten,
while lilies weave stories untraveled through ivy and time,
where no mortal tongue penetrates the shimmering veil.
Across prismatic realms, friendship costs but a rare moment’s breath;
with quirks of fate, glimpses into veiled sepulchers, scars of light
dance against the tide's subtle beckoning—a map written in invisible ink.
Click and grasp the texture of eternity, welcoming visitors into trenches
lined by skittish shadows uttering their confessions—a prayer unveiled, haunting yet cherished,
ripe with moon’s echoes, as marvellous as the dawn.