In the twilight's gentle embrace,
A door, unseen, stands guard,
Its age-touched frame woven from dreams,
Of murmurs lost in echoing skies.
To see it is to desire,
To feel it is to know,
The velvety caress of shadows,
Weaving tapestries of sighs,
As silent as the stars.
Open the door,
They whisper,
Or perhaps,
Do not seek it,
But listen.
Enter the Realm of Whispers
Echoes of the Past