In dawn's muted glow, the woods whisper,
Riddle-me-this in twilight's threadwork;
Lost echoes blend in mossy embrace,
Signed parchment unfurled beneath verdant lace.
A peculiar compass points south,
Where whispers spin tales in Schneideresque prose;
Decipher the weave of misty breath,
Navigate the whispers or succumb to ethereal death.
Beyond lies the dreamweaver's path,
Unspoken words wrapped in twilight's veil,
Follow the silence to the hidden halls.