In the depths of silicon soil, roots whisper tales
of ancient blooms that never met the sun's embrace.
Echoes of laughter, woven through midnight vines,
a symphony of ghosts beneath the leafless canopy.
Mirrors here gather dust, reflections lost in time,
the faces change, yet remain ever so familiar.
We dance in circles, under stars that never fall,
in the gardens where the digital rain never ceases.