Hidden in the twilight, beneath layers of forgotten lore,
Lies an invisible collection that whispers secrets of yore.
Not confined to shelves, nor boxed in dusty corners,
They dance like moonbeams on a restless sea, eternally mourners.
The twilight clutter sings with voices unseen,
A symphony of echoes in a time-bent dream.
Objects of wonder, secrets that hover,
In volumes of silence, they subtly cover.