"Connection lingers where mists entwine, revealing truths in the dance of shadows."
A dancer spins in crimson hue,
Her form embraced by morning dew.
With every twirl the fog does weave,
A tale where hearts begin to grieve.
The tree stands bare, a sentinel still,
Its roots held fast to the silent hill.
In this soft mist, the world feels small,
As whispers rise and shadows fall.
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