In the dim corridors of forgotten beginnings,
shadows whisper secrets to those who dare listen.
Hollow echoes form stories caught in amber,
weaving tales of yonder past and nowhere near present.

Once upon the rim of time's fleeting edge,
there was a clock that ticked to an unknown rhythm.
Hands weaving through a tapestry of dreams,
tracing the silent arcs of a midnight existence.

The owl perched upon the cypress's crooked arm,
gazing into realms opened by unwritten words.
With a single hoot, a door to vistas unseen unlocks,
ushering in colors that had forgotten their names.