It sounds like whispering,


perhaps about the past,

what it has seen before

and what it has washed away.

Just like a lullaby, softly kissing a baby’s cheek,

quietly prying open the hardened ground

for fresh, new life.

And now,

a crescendo,

then softer, gentler,

back to the lull of the night.

Quietly, receding back to the sounds of nothing,


wiping away its tracks

leaving nothing except for a faint shimmer:

fairy dust.


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