The crescent speaks; it murmurs the tales of ages past—
Where shadows embrace the gardens of the sleeping houses.
There, the dew weaves tapestries of silver, glimmering soft...
Have we walked here before, barefoot on phantom paths?
In echoes, we found ourselves once more, a fabric twin...
Faint stars ink stories in the sky's vast parchment walls—
Here, solitude touches eternity with gentle sighs.
The moon winks; it knows all secret glances amongst trees.
Do we know it, this waltz with the shadows and silver?
You're fleeting like a water droplet catching a sun's gleam, lost in the night embrace...