In the corridors of whispered dreams,
a melody slips through the cracks of silence.
Shadows dance to the rhythm of forgotten notes,
as the hymn, elusive, seeks its way home.
The wind carries voices of ancient sages,
scribes of the ephemeral tracing lines in the dust.
Eyes closed, you can almost see them—
the architects of echoes, lost in contemplation.
Do you hear it? The cadence of eternity,
woven into the fabric of the night sky.
A symphony of stars blinking in Morse,
telling tales of worlds unseen, unheard.