In the cradle of noon's quiet embrace,
draped in slumber's velvet veil,
the Dreamers' Choir hums.
Words lost to the echoes of time,
float like autumn leaves on a forgotten breeze.
Once, the moon spoke gently of unwritten songs,
chapters penned in the ink of daydreams,
silent voices now entwined
in the labyrinth of their own making.
Shadows stretch and bend,
casting tales upon the walls
once believed to be true,
yet rewritten by the hands of sleep itself.