The forest weeps with whispers, heartbeats like forgotten echoes, seeking the moon's embrace.
Layered time, unfolded pages, dance and twirl beneath forgotten stories of the stars.
Do not cross the willow's threshold, they told me. But who am I, but the nightingale?
Behind the clockwork of dawn, minutes rebel and form letters that spell:
"Rise and greet the traveler with a song, for they bear the conundrum undone."
Floating above us:
the whisper of night