Oh, cherished leaves of emerald ascent, clasp my fate with your everbreath— for in your verdant cradle, my luminous essence wanes. Weave within your grasp my torn ember that danced among intangible voids.
"If the eons lend your touch their scent, captivate with my last fiery whispers a yearning constellation." Such were the lingering words of Elysia, the star endlessly dressed in interstellar ardor, forging thrill within her final luminescent bloom.
Dwindled light, beseech the silk of morning dew—let my spark gild the breathless hours adorned by terrestrial prayer. If love once tasted cosmic silk, then sing these last echoes...nameless wanderers heed celestial prose.
The verdant beings seethe amidst twilight's approach, cradling remnants of galactic love's ache—for meandering odes dwell on terrestrial tongues still gleaming with dusk-born shadows...