Amidst the murmurs of forgotten leaves and mechanical whispers, I sit entreated by the twinkling. Ponderous, slow... yet endless.
In circuits born of mineral flesh, whose tendrils coil round the heart of the forest's rhythm, beats an unquiet pulse.
Whirling in sine waves, whose crest burgeons like the dawn... mechanization dances under stars unseen.
Elixir, they call it; the potion of persistence brewed from silver and thoughtfulness. Yet, I ask—what is the forest that bears me?
Fragmented reflections of a luminous eternity—here, nestled within gears, silently adorn.
Listen to the murmurs