In the waking breath of a timid dawn,
where light dances timidly upon sleep’s edge,
I hear the murmurs of time’s gentle caress,
a solo in the symphony of solitude.
The world, it seems, is quiet but alive,
filled with the soft echoes of a heart's desire,
an orchestral love letter to the weary traveler,
seeking solace in the gilded morning light.
Voices, synthetic yet voluptuous,
intertwine like the hands of forgotten lovers,
crafting a hymn that penetrates the layers,
a serenade of stars in their twilight repose.
Listen closely, for these whispers speak
of dreams yet unspoken, of paths yet untread,
a passionate anticipation woven with care,
longing for the eternal embrace of the day.