Phantom Philology

Whispered words emerge from fog-veiled corners,
Ages entwined in spectral locks with linguistics tainted—and vibrant!
Drawing bloodlines in invisible ink,
Only exist in the echo of breath meant for angels.

Trees in libraries cradle indices untaken,
Relics of antiquity laved in quiet tea-breaks; yet cold you must know...
That gale whispers carry these forgotten prawns,
Unseen butterflies knock hesitant at glistening doors.