In shadows, beneath the sigh of ancient trees, secrets hum.
A tapestry of echoes woven by the moonlit scribe.
Steps upon a silent path, where tomorrow kneels before yesterday,
holding its breath in an endless exhale.
Through the corridors of time flow whispers like streams.
Some dances as flickering shadows on a forgotten scroll,
others hum as a chorus of nightingales in clandestine jubilee.