By the fractured light of a sinking sun,
the echoes trace the stories
that never were.
Glimmers in the fog, a carousel of dreams,
where laughter mingles with the weeping of stars.
Listen, for the silence speaks of shadows,
and the murmurs weave a tapestry of time.
The clock unwinds in reverse,
as time tiptoes through the garden of the lost.
In the whisper's cradle, a secret lies,
waiting to bloom in the heart of the storm.