"Is it possible," said the clock, "that time forgot about lunch?" [Galaxy hums]

The raincoat umbrella tells tales of forgotten dances on moonlit rooftops where puddles reflect stardust and whispers that sing in invisible ink.

"Yes, but when?" asked the shoe, poised to step, looking down an empty street paved with unfinished thoughts. [Echoing softly]

In the garden, weeds read poetry to the roots, while ants decipher the verses in
the shadow of a wandering butterfly's dream.

Do answers wear hats? The question floated past a flock of flying questions, silhouetted against a
glimmering crescent of risk and fortune.

Beneath the floorboards, old letters reminisce about the evenings of light and echo,
ghosts of laughter entwined with the scent of gardenia.