"Listen to the void, where patterns of light fleetingly whisper,
The cosmos hums an eternal sonnet in silence.
Ephemeral, yet persistent, they wade through the eons,
Patterns born of cosmic dust danced into being by timeless breaths.

When did we forget the language of these fleeting constellations?
Each orbit, a thought; each void, a pause.
In the cadence of their silent choreography,
Do we find answers or merely the echo of our questions?

Follow their paths, like footprints across a tide,
Echo, Void, Whisper.
Shedding light, they draw shadows that speak louder than their glow.
Touch the silence, and perhaps even hear it sing."