In the cradle of the ancient pines, where shadows dance in the fractured sunlight, the whisper of the meadow calls softly. Here, the sun weaves daylight through the fabrics of leaves, stitching golden patterns upon the forest floor... Echoes of time repeat, echoes of time repeat.
The rhythmic rustle beckons. Each breeze a gentle messenger, carrying scents of earth and fleeting petals, each step a deliberate journey upon a path both seen and known. Echoes of time repeat, echoes of time repeat.
An endless circle, traced by light and shadow, unfolds beneath the arms of weary trees. The melodies linger, woven into the fabric of bright afternoons filled with golden dreams... Echoes of time repeat, echoes of time repeat.