In the creases of the mind, where reality blurs, there lie lost melodies of untold epics. Scattered like autumn leaves, each story a forgotten echo, waiting to be sung.
The sun dipped below the horizon,
Painting the sky with tales of the day,
Night gathered, cloaked in shimmers,
Whispers of dreams, ripe for the taking.
A girl in a crimson dress,
Danced beneath the silver moon,
Her laughter, a waterfall of stars,
Cascading through the silent woods.
An ancient owl hooted thrice,
Its eyes, like orbs of forgotten wisdom,
Opened a portal to the past,
Where shadows played among the ruins.
The wind carried a forgotten song,
A melody woven from silver threads,
Of time and space, of dreams and light,
An ode to what might have been.