In amber's gentle cradle, thoughts lie woven.
A tapestry of silence, where echoes breathe softly.
Time curls around each word, a slumbering serpent,
coiling softly in the twilight of comprehension.
Do you hear the whispers in the clockwork of dreams?
A symphony of moments, delicate as a moth's wing.
Here, the infinite dances, its steps measured
in the pulse of stars hidden from the dawn.