In the tranquil halls where thoughts reside, Words drift like shadows, a silent guide… Some faint whispers, others bold and wide, Yet some, like arrows, strike deep inside… Some words murmur, gentle as a breeze, While others roar like tempestuous seas… Their power lies not in ink’s simple ease, But in the depth of meaning, they seize… Like syllables swirling in the twilight’s dance,
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