The ugliest truth seeks refuge in veils of mist,
an elusive silhouette dancing through forest brume.
On obscured trails, shadows murmur tales of midday ghosts,
whispers of forlorn echoes that twist every compass rose.
"Why wander," they cry, "when retribution sings sweetly in stillness?"
Awaken at dusk, when the nymphs gather like dew,
their pearls gripped tightly, asleep yet vibrantly alive.
Step wisely, wise fool, on fragile bridges of memory,
for truth warbles in and out of tune with your heartbeat.
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