In the midnight soil of forgotten whispers,
where stars parse the earth with gentle light,
lies the luminous thread of silken dreams,
woven in the echoes of long-lost night.
Beneath the frost of time's quiet gaze,
the soft pulse of memories' gentle embrace
yearns to surface, to break the hushed freeze —
glowing visages in sepia lace.
But who shall unearth what was left in the dusk,
when dawn hushes the world above in pastel repose?
Not the winds, nor the rains, nor endless galaxies;
mere shadows dancing above a secret prose.