Here awakens the sundial, cradling dreams in her arms,
time spills like golden sand, whispering against fingertips,
impressions woven into the fabric of stars alive,
and shadows dance with echoes of laughter lost.
Fragments slip into the twilight’s embrace, bloom.
With each breath, an unfurling, harps that strum the air,
and hues bleed into each heartbeat, fated yet unsure.
A flutter, a gasp—woven threads of moments breaking free,
fissures paint stories that refuse to be confined.
Tick, tock, a rhythm once forgotten; specters of forgotten days,
like leaves rustling in forgotten conversations of yesterday’s reverie.