Whispered crowns of marigold sunsets descend upon forgotten tongues,
where words once danced like fireflies beneath the moon's tender eye.
"The night paints shadows upon whispers," she murmured,
as clouds collected thoughts like suspended raindrops in glass.
Do you remember the language of leaves, their silent verses swaying in a breeze?
Here, the past unfolds time like an origami crane yearning for flight.